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Paul    reading  the   Scriptures. 

See  page  56 


V  I  C  T  0  R ; 


OK, 


PARIS  TROUBLES  AND  PROVENCE  ROSES. 


By  Mrs.  L.  A.  HOLDICH. 


The  children  of  thy  servants  shall  continue,  and  their  seed  shall 
be  established  before  thee.— Psalm  cii,  28. 


TWO     ILLUSTRATIONS. 


iNnu  Ijork : 


PUBLISHED  BY  CARLTON  &  PORTER, 

8TJNDAY-8CIIOOL   UNION,   200   MFLBEREY-STREET. 


Entered  according  to  Act  of  Congress,  in  the  year  1861,  by 

CARLTON  &  PORTER, 

In  the  Clerk's  Office  of  the  District  Court  of  the  United  States 
for  the  Sovithern  District  of  New  York. 


CONTENTS. 


PAGH 

I.  Philippe 7 

n.  Victor  and  his  Friends 14 

III.  Les  Prairies 33 

IY.  Good  People  and  Bad 43 

V.  Paris 58 

VI.    SUSANNE TO 

VII.  Trouble 89 

VTEI.  True  Friends 96 

IX.  A  Journey  Home 109 

X.  Provence  Roses 11*7 


^  i  >  ■  ^ 


Illustrations. 


Paul  reading  the  Scriptures 2 

Jerome  recounting  his  Exploits  to  Victor  ...  66 


Y  I  C  T  0  E. 


-^♦♦♦^- 


CHAPTER  I. 

PHILIPPE. 

"Papa  will  get  well  when  Aunt 
Justine  comes,"  said  little  Victor, 
looking  up  in  his  father's  face. 

"  No,  papa  will  never  be  well  here. 
But  he  will  be  well  when  the  good 
God  takes  him  up  into  the  blue 
sky,"  replied  the  boy's  father. 

"  Who  said  so  to  papa  ?" 

"  The  book  that  papa  reads  to  little 
Victor." 

"Will  dear  papa  read  it  to  little 
Victor  now?" 


8  VICTOR. 

Then  Philippe  Desait  opened  the 
Bible  with  a  trembling  hand,  and 
read,  in  a  feeble  but  most  touching 
voice :  "  There  shall  be  no  death, 
neither  sorrow,  nor  crying,  neither 
shall  there  be  any  more  pain  ;"  and 
then  he  added,  "You  know  papa 
often  has  pain  now;  but  up  there 
he'll  have  none." 

"Victor  must  go  with  papa,"  said 
the  child. 

"Victor  can't  go  with  papa;  but, 
if  he  is  good,  God  will  send  for  him 
some  day." 

The  clear  brown  eyes  of  the  child 
filled  with  tears. 

"Don't  leave  me,  papa.  Ask  the 
good  God  to  let  you  take  your  little 
boy  with  you."* 

Philippe  was  too  weak  to  contend 
with  the  child.  He  motioned  the 
servant,  who  stood  weeping  in  the 
corner  of  the  room,  to  take  him  away. 


PHILIPPE.  9 

The  cottage,  in  Provence,  by  the 
window  of  which  .Philippe  sat,  was  as 
sweet  a  spot  as  one  would  wish  to 
see.  Though  extremely  rustic  in  its 
architecture,  it  was  made  beautiful 
by  the  roses,  that  hid  all  its  inequali- 
ties and  defects.  They  climbed  up 
to  the  eaves,  twisted  round  the  chim- 
ney, and  threw  their  long  sprays 
over  the  lowly  roof.  A  hedge  of 
blush-roses  also  inclosed  a  garden, 
full  of  tuberoses,  jasmin,  violets, 
and  other  of  those  odorous  flowers 
from  which  the  distillers  of  Grasse 
extract  their  celebrated  perfumes. 

In  that  mild  climate  birds  all  the 
year  round  live  in  their  sheltered 
nests  in  the  hedges  and  under  the 
eaves;  and  now  they  flitted  hither 
and  thither,  while  bees  went  from 
flower  to  flower  securing  their  honey- 
ed treasure. 

But  sickness  and  death  had  come 


10  VICTOE. 

to  that  little  cottage,  so  rich  in  beauty 
and  in  bloom.  Its  master  was  sum- 
moned, after,  at  different  times,  bury- 
ing from  it  father,  mother,  and  wife. 
But  there  was  to  him  no  terror  in  the 
thought  of  death,  for  he  met  it  with 
a  Christian's  trust.  Though  his  heart 
clung  fondly  to  his  only  child,  he 
placed  him  confidently  in  the  hands 
of  Him  who  says,  "  Leave  thy  father- 
less   children    to    me."      When    he 

looked  around  and  asked  himself  to 

it 

whom  he  could  safely  commit  his 
boy  he  was  at  a  loss ;  there  was  dan- 
ger everywhere.  So  he  took  him  to 
his  Saviour  and  said,  "Suffer  my 
Victor  to  come  unto  thee ;"  and  then 
he  was  consoled. 

He  sat  by  the  window  with  his 
sister,  who  had  come  from  Geneva  to 
see  him,  a  few  days  after  the  previous 
scene  with  his  child.  Her  eyes  were 
red  with  weeping,  but  his  were  clear 


PHILIPPE.  II 

and  bright.  Little  Victor  was  playing 
among  the  birds  and  flowers,  his  late 
sorrow  all  forgotten.  Then  Philippe 
spoke : 

"Justine,  beloved  sister,  I  leave 
you  a  sacred  charge.  You  know  my 
faith,  and  I  also  know  yours.  Truly 
must  I  say  that  it  is  because  I  know 
no  one  else  to  whom  I  can  commit 
my  boy  that  I  now  give  him  up  to 
you." 

"My  brother,  can  you  doubt  my 
love,  my  care  ?" 

u  Never,  Justine ;  but  that  love 
and  care  may  do  him  a  great  injury. 
You  are  a  Romanist,  and  Victor  must 
not  be  connected  with  that  Church. 
In  love  and  tenderness  I  say  this, 
though  to  you  it  may  seem  harsh. 
Were  your  faith  other  than  it  is, 
there  is  no  one  in  whose  hands  I 
would  so  gladly  leave  him.  I  know 
your  Joying  and  gentle  nature;  one 


12  VICTOR. 

only    thing    have    you    ever   denied 


me." 


"  I  could  not  help  that,  Philippe. 
What  else  would  I  not  have  given 
up  for  you  ?" 

"I  know  it  all,  my  dear  and  good 
Justine;  and  now  I  will  only  pray 
that  we  may  meet  in  our  Father's 
house  above,  through  the  blessed 
Saviour  in  whom  we  both  believe. 
And  now  I  ask  one  thing  of  you  that 
you  must  not  refuse.  Promise  me 
that  you  will  not  hinder  my  beloved 
Victor  from  being  a  Protestant.  That 
he  will  be  one  I  confidently  believe ; 
I  feel  that  this  my  last  prayer  for 
him  will  be  answered.  My  faith 
will  be  his  when  I  am  beyond  his 
sight.  Give  him  this  book,  which 
has  been  my  comfort  in  life,  and  is 
now  my  solace  in  death." 

"  I  promise  !  I  promise  !"  said  Jus- 
tine, weeping  bitterly. 


PHILIPPE.  18 

It  had  been  indeed  a  struggle  for 
Philippe  to  give  up  his  child  into  his 
sister's  hands.  He  had  wavered  long 
between  her  and  an  old  uncle  in 
Paris,  who  had  asked  for  Victor  and 
who  he  knew  would  be  kind  to  him. 
The  question  was  between  one  with 
a  defective  faith  and  one  whom  he 
had  reason  to  believe  was  without 
any.  He  decided  on  the  former,  the 
more  readily  that  he  knew  Victor 
would  be  far  more  likely  to  be  thrown 
into  the  company  of  Protestants  and 
Christian  people  in  Geneva  than  in 
Paris. 

When  all  was  over  Justine  was 
glad  to  take  charge  of  her  nephew, 
though,  owing  to  his  long  illness  and 
other  causes,  Philippe  left  but  a  small 
portion  for  him. 


14  VICTOR. 


CHAPTER  II. 

VICTOR   AKD   HIS    FRIEKDS. 

After  the  lapse  of  ten  years  we 
shall  transport  our  readers  from  the 
flowery  land  of  Provence  to  one  of 
the  narrow  and  crooked  streets  of 
Geneva.  In  a  small  room  a  break- 
fast-table is  waiting;  but  the  wine, 
which  is  deemed  indispensable  there, 
is  lacking.  A  large,  fine-looking 
man,  in  a  blue  blouse,  stamps  impa- 
tiently up  and  down  the  room.  Now 
he  goes  to  the  door  and  looks  at  the 
passers-by,  then  he  knits  his  brow 
and  gazes  upward  at  the  narrow  strip 
of  sky  that  is  seen  between  the  jagged 
and  uneven  roofs  that  nod  to  each 
other  across  the  street,  and  then  he 
returns  to  pace  the  floor  again. 

A  young  woman,  whom  we  recog- 


VICTOE   AND   HIS   FKIENDS.         15 

nize  as  our  former  acquaintance,  Jus- 
tine, sits  sewing  by  the  window. 
Time  has  changed  her  but  little ;  she 
still  looks  fair  and  young.  The  man 
steps  before  her  and  impatiently 
stamps  his  foot. 

"  Will  he  never  come  ?" 

"O  Louis,  there  are  so  many  cus- 
tomers at  this  hour !" 

"  If  there  were  a  hundred,  five 
hundred,  a  thousand,  they  might 
have  been  served  before  this." 

"  O  not  quite !  Have  patience, 
dear  Louis ;  he'll  soon  be  here." 

"  So  you've  said  for  an  hour.  'Tis 
nine  o'clock;  my  friends  wait  for 
me." 

"Can't  you  do  something  to  be- 
guile the  time  ?     You  see  I  work." 

"  Bah !  your  woman's  work !  what 
does  it  amount  to  ?" 

"  I  think  you  find  it  amounts  to 
something  at  the  end  of  the  year." 


16  VICTOR. 

No  answer.  Another  rush  to  the 
door. 

"  He  comes  at  length,  and  running 
as  if  he  expected  to  make  up  for  his 
tardiness." 

"  Then  you'll  excuse  him,  surely." 

"  My  throat  is  quite  parched.  I'll 
not  excuse  him." 

A  young  boy,  flushed  and  breath- 
less, stands  before  the  door.  Only 
those  full,  brown  eyes  speak  of  our 
little  Victor,  the  child  of  sunny  Prov- 
ence. He  has  grown  bold,  brave, 
and  strong. 

"Where's  the  wine?  where's  the 
jug?"  asked  Louis. 

"  I'm  so  sorry,  but  Jean  Leroy  trip- 
ped my  foot,  and  the  jug  was  shat- 
tered." 

Now  Jean  Leroy  was  one  whom 
Louis  particularly  disliked.  He  grew 
pale  with  anger.  His  nostrils  dilated, 
and  his  lips  quivered  like  those  of  a 


VICTOR   AND    HIS    FRIENDS.         1Y 

frightened  horse.  He  sprang  toward 
the  boy,  but  his  wife  drew  him  back. 

"  Let  me  go,  Justine,  let  me  go. 
I'll  chastise  him.     It's  all  a  lie." 

The  boy  stood  his  ground  firmly. 
His  eye  never  quailed  as  he  looked 
steadily  at  the  angry  man,  now  trem- 
bling and  throbbing  with  passion. 
Without  raising  his  voice  he  an- 
swered : 

"  It's  truth  ;  a  lie  I'd  never  utter." 

"O  Louis,  he  never  would!  I 
know  he's  careless  sometimes,  but 
the  truth  he  always  tells.  Here,  my 
child,  take  another  jug,  and  run  back 
to  the  wine-shop.  He'll  soon  return. 
Do  compose  yourself,  Louis,"  said 
poor  Justine. 

But  the  dark,  stern,  passionate 
man  never  was  composed ;  he  was  a 
fit  image  of  the  troubled  sea. 

Victor  was  glad  to  get  out  of  the 
way,  and  as   soon  as   he  was  gone 


18  "VICTOR. 

Louis  said:  "That  boy's  the  plague 
of  my  life." 

"  You  make  him  so  by  your  bitter 
dislike." 

"  No  love's  wasted  between  us." 

"  Ah,  Louis  !  Victor  is  affectionate  ; 
but  you  force  him  from  you.  If 
you'd  try  to  love  him  !" 

"  Bah,  Justine !  he'll  never  have 
my  love.  You  give  him  enough  for 
both." 

Victor  soon  came  in  with  a  new 
jug,  bought  and  filled  by  Jean.  Jus- 
tine said : 

"  Now  come  to  breakfast,  Victor." 

"Excuse  me,  aunt;  a  liar  must 
not  eat  with  good  people,"  said  the 
boy. 

"  O  Victor,  don't  be  foolish !  Your 
uncle  meant  nothing.  Dear  Louis, 
tell  him  so." 

But  Louis  would  not  speak  a 
word. 


VICTOE   AND   HIS   FEIENDS.         19 

"  Aunt,  I  don't  want  breakfast.  I'll 
go  and  sit  with  Eugene." 

"  Obstinate  !  go  then !"  muttered 
Louis,  and  Justine  said  no  more. 

Louis  had  always  felt  that  Victor 
was  an  intruder  into  his  family,  al- 
though at  the  time  of  his  father's 
death  he  gave  a  reluctant  consent  to 
his  coming.  He  was  avaricious  and 
jealous,  and  fancied  that  Justine  loved 
Victor  better  than  himself. 

The  house  into  which  Victor  went 
for  a  little  comfort  was  an  ancient 
building  next  door.  The  wide  stair- 
case and  carved  ornaments  proved  it 
to  have  been  a  very  grand  affair  in 
its  day,  and  broken  and  defaced  as  it 
was,  it  still  looked  down  with  a  kind 
of  scorn  upon  its  next  door  neighbor. 
Yet  Louis's  small  house  had  once 
been  joined  to  the  larger  one,  and 
was  scarcely  separated  from  it  now. 

Victor  passed  by  several  signs  that 

2 


20  VICTOE. 

were  nailed  against  the  wall  to  point 
out  the  residence  and  occupation  of 
the  different  tenants,  and  went  into 
a  large  room  on  the  fourth  floor 
without  knocking.  A  different  spirit 
pervaded  that  room  from  the  one  he 
had  just  left.  You  saw  it  in  the 
countenance  of  every  member  of  the 
family.  An  aged  couple  sat  side  by 
side  in  high  backed  chairs.  On  the  lap 
of  old  Adrien  lay  a  folio  Bible,  which 
he  read  aloud  to  his  family  as  they 
worked.  He  was  dressed  in  a  flat 
Bernais  cap,  and  long  silvery  hair 
floated  over  his  shoulders.  His  wife 
also  wore  the  Bernais  costume.  The 
book  which  he  read  was  the  law  of 
the  household.  He  had  followed  the 
precept  which  commands  us  to  teach 
it  to  our  children  at  all  times  and  in 
all  places,  and  the  Lord  had  rewarded 
him  for  his  faithfulness.  He  had  two 
children,  a  son  and  a  daughter.     Eu- 


VICTOR   AND   HIS   FRIENDS.         21 

gene,  who,  though  much  older  than 
Victor,  was  his  particular  friend,  had 
learned  the  trade  of  a  watchmaker, 
so  common  in  Geneva.  His  sister 
Henriette  assisted  him ;  and  the  most 
delicate  part  of  the  mechanism  was 
trusted  to  her  plastic  fingers. 

Adrien  looked  up  from  the  Bible 
to  Victor. 

"  Good  morning,  little  friend.  It's 
unusual  to  see  you  at  this  hour." 

"  Yes,  Father  Adrien  ;  it's  a  saint's 
day,  and  though  my  uncle  cares  not 
for  that,  he  chose  for  some  reason  or 
other  to  shut  up  his  shop.  I  thought 
I'd  walk  out  in  the  country  and  gather 
wild-flowers  with  my  aunt,  but  alas ! 
as  usual,  all's  spoiled." 

Henriette  looked  up  from  her 
work. 

"Another  scene  with  Louis?"  she 
asked. 

"Yes,  he  sent  me  for  wine  and  the 


22  VICTOR. 

jug  was  broken.  Then  lie  called  me 
liar." 

"  Liar !"  spoke  all  the  family  at 
once.     "  Ah,  that  you'd  never  be." 

"  What  a  pity  for  your  aunt's  sake," 
said  Eugene,  "  that  you  and  Louis 
can't  get  on  better  together  !  Are 
you  as  gentle  and  forbearing  as  you 
should  be,  Victor  V  he  asked. 

"  I  don't  know ;  perhaps  not ;  some- 
times I'm  desperate ;  yet  I  do  try 
to  be  patient,  but  I  can't  bear  it  much 
longer.  I'll  run  away !"  he  added 
passionately. 

"A  meek  and  quiet  spirit  is  of 
great  price  in  the  sight  of  the  Lord, 
Victor,"  said  Father  Adrien,  "  and 
young  folks  must  try  to  put  up  with 
the  caprice  of  their  elders." 

Victor  spent  the  morning  with 
these  good  people,  and  felt  better  for 
his  visit.  Eugene  told  him  that 
toward  evening  he  would  take  a  walk 


VICTOR    AND    HIS    IRIENDS.  23 

in  the  country  with  him.  When  he 
saw  Louis  go  out  he  went  back  to  his 
aunt.  She  was  sewing  as  usual,  but 
sat  outside  the  door.  Her  morning 
cap  with  a  wide  fluted  border  had 
been  changed  for  a  brown  net  drawn 
by  crimson  ribbon.  She  looked 
pleased  to  see  Victor.  They  loved 
and  understood  each  other.  She  put 
out  her  hand,  and  they  went  into  the 
house  together. 

"  My  poor  Victor  !  My  precious 
boy  !"  she  said,  smoothing  his  hair. 

"  Dear,  precious  aunt !"  replied 
Victor. 

The  tone  in  which  these  words 
were  spoken,  said,  "I  pity  you,"  to 
each  other. 

It  was  into  a  small  but  pleasant 
room  they  went.  Though  narrow,  it 
ran  back  to  a  yard  in  which  they 
saw  some  trees  and  a  grass-plot,  little 
bits  of  nature  that  often  did  poor 


24  VICTOR. 

Justine's  heart  good.  She  had  been 
a  child  of  the  country  till  her  mar- 
riage, and  the  murmur  of  water  and 
the  song  of  birds  often  sounded  in 
her  ear.  Her  taste  and  delicacy  had 
given  expression  to  the  little  sitting 
room,  otherwise  so  plain.  You  saw 
the  woman  in  the  pot  of  English  ivy 
shading  the  front  window,  in  the 
vase  of  dried  grasses  from  the 
meadow,  in  the  sweet,  though  unex- 
pensive  bouquet,  and  in  the  pretty 
time-piece  standing  on  the  mantel. 
The  only  evidence  of  bad  taste  about 
the  room  were  the  tawdry  Madonnas 
and  woeful  looking  saints  that  hung 
upon  the  wall. 

"My  head  aches  terribly,  aunt," 
said  Victor,  laying  her  hand  on  his 
forehead.     "  See  how  hot  it  is  P 

"  It  is  hot,  let  me  bathe  it,"  and 
she  brought  out  some  eau  de  co- 
logne. 


VICTOE   AND    HIS    FEIENDS.  25 

"  O  aunt !"  burst  forth  Victor,  "  to 
be  called  a  liar !" 

"Don't  think  of  it;  Louis  was 
hasty.     Try  to  forget  it." 

"  I  can't,  aunt ;  hear  rne :  I  must 
speak  now.  You  know  how  I've 
been  thwarted  in  every  way.  I  gave 
up  my  wish  to  be  a  saifor  and  was 
then  put  to  a  business  that  I  detest. 
Yet  I  bore  it,  though  Eugene  would 
have  taken  me  without  a  premium 
and  been  a  brother  to  me.  But  my 
uncle  hates  me  and  makes  me  wretch- 
ed. Is  there  no  home  for  me  but 
under  his  roof?" 

Justine  shook  her  head  and  said : 

"We  have  so  few  relations.  Our 
old  Uncle  Pierre  loved  your  father, 
and  always  expresses  great  interest  in 
you.  I've  sometimes  wished  you 
were  with  him.   B at  Paris  is  so  far  off !" 

"I'd  like  to  go  thither!  I'd  like 
to  see  Paris  !"  said  Victor  eagerly. 


26  VICTOR. 

"  Don't  think  of  leaving  us  yet,  my 
darling,  I  should  be  lonely  without 
you.  Go  back  to  your  business  to- 
morrow and  try  to  be  contented,  and 
forgiving  also,"  she  added.  "In  the 
mean  time  take  this,  and  may  it  bring 
you  the  peace  which  it  has  never 
given  me.  .Aias !  I  fear  I  have  too 
little  faith." 

She  untied  a  medal  from  her  neck, 
which  her  priest  had  told  her  pos- 
sessed wonderful  virtue,  and  fastened 
it  around  Victor's.  He  did  not  know 
what  a  sacrifice  she  made  in  parting 
with  it,  and  received  it  with  an  in- 
difference that  pained  her. 

"Will  you  not  say  the  beautiful 
prayer  upon  it  daily,  Victor  ?" 

"Aunt,  I  think  it's  no  better  than 
the  Pater  Noster.  That  I  never 
omit." 

Did  Justine  think  of  the  promise 
to  the  dying  father  when  she  asked 


VICTOR   AND   HIS    FRIENDS.  27 

him  to  say  that  prayer  to  the  Vir- 
gin? 

"  But  now  go,  my  darling.  Drive 
that  black  cloud  from  your  brow. 
Seek  out  Jean  Leroy,  he's  always  so 
merry." 

"  No,  aunt,  I  go  with  Eugene,  and 
here  he  is  now.  But  you  must  not 
stay  at  home." 

"  Will  not  madame  walk  with  us  \ ' 
said  Eugene,  taking  off  his  gray  cap 
with  the  usual  politeness  of  a  French- 
man. 

"Thanks,  monsieur,  but  I  go  to 
Les  Prairies ;  not  quite  yet,  how- 
ever." 

"  My  love  to  the  kind  young  ladies 
and  to  dear  old  Paul  should  you  see 
him,"  said  Victor. 

The  young  friends  walked  rapidly 
through  the  crooked  and  uneven 
streets  of  the  old  city  till  they  found 
themselves  among  rural  scenes.    They 


28  VICTOR. 

always  enjoyed  these  rambles  to- 
gether ;  Victor  with  the  fresh  unsated 
nature  of  the  boy,  and  Eugene  with 
eyes  that  saw  the  expression  of  a  Fa- 
ther's love  in  every  object  round 
him.  They  reached  the  beautiful  lake, 
so  celebrated,  so  often  described  by 
travelers,  and  Victor's  late  trouble 
was  forgotten  as  in  his  boyish  way  he 
stood  " making  ducks  and  drakes" 
upon  its  surface.  But  this  did  not 
last  long.  Eugene's  attention  was 
drawn  from  the  fine  Alpine  view 
in  the  distance,  by  hearing  Victor 
say  passionately,  "  I  can't  forget  it. 
I  should  be  another  boy  if  I  were 
away  from  Louis.  If  it  were  not 
for  my  aunt  I'd  run  away  directly. 
O  Eugene,  what  shall  I  do  ?" 

"We'll  go  and  see  Paul  at  pres- 
ent," said  Eugene.  "His  company 
always  does  me  good." 

They  went  to   old   Paul's   pretty 


VIOTOE   AND    HIS   FKIEISTDS.  29 

lodge.  It  stood  back  from  the  large 
mansion  at  Les  Prairies,  nearer  the 
lake.  Paul  had  been  principal  gar- 
dener, but  was  now  too  old  and  infirm 
to  do  much.  But  he  was  well  pro- 
vided for  by  the  family  in  which  he 
had  lived  from  his  youth.  They 
loved  him  for  his  goodness,  and  re- 
spected him  for  his  sterling  honesty. 
They  had  given  him  the  charge  of 
the  poultry  and  the  bees,  more  for 
the  old  man's  amusement  than  from 
any  profit  they  cared  to  derive  from  it. 
They  found  Paul  in  the  poultry 
yard  among  his  feathered  friends. 
Every  grade  and  variety  of  fowl  was 
there,  from  peacocks  with  golden 
eyes  to  the  gentle  dove.  They  fol- 
lowed him  in  troops  to  pick  up  the 
yellow  maize,  which  he  scattered  pro- 
fusely, while  some  flew  upon  his 
shoulders  and  pecked  his  face  caress- 
ingly.     He  took  them  into  his  gar- 


30  VICTOE. 

den  to  see  flowers  of  rare  beauty,  and 
rows  of  beehives  with  beds  of  laven- 
der and  other  fragrant  herbs  for  the 
accommodation  of  the  bees  beside 
them.  An  innocent  and  happy  life 
the  old  man  led  among  his  bees  and 
flowers  and  fowls. 

"You  have  a  lovely  home  here, 
Father  Paul,"  said  Eugene. 

"Yes,  thank  the  good  God  for  it. 
I  shall  soon  step  out  of  it,  monsieur, 
but  what  does  it  matter  ?  Doesn't  he 
say,  '  In  my  Father's  house  are  many 
mansions?'  Think  you  then  that 
when  he  fitted  up  pleasant  rooms  for 
his  dear  children  above,  he  forgot  to 
make  one  ready  for  old  Paul  ?  No, 
no,  monsieur,  it  waits  for  me,  and 
when  he  calls  I've  nothing  to  do  but 
reach  out  my  hand  and  be  led  into  it." 

"  Victor,  if  you  and  I  felt  like  Fa- 
ther Paul  our  little  trials  would  not 
be  hard  to  bear." 


VICTOE   AND    HIS    FKIEKDS.  31 

"Hard  to  bear,  monsieur?  O  his 
grace  makes  burdens  very  light! 
He  sends  sickness,  but  a  dark  room 
gives  inward  light.  He  takes  away 
friends.  What  then  ?  We  see  them 
walking  in  green  meadows  over  the 
river,  and  the  sight  of  them  makes  us 
willing  to  cross  it.  That  makes  me 
think  of  the  dear  old-fashioned  hymn 
you  often  sing  for  me,  monsieur,  about 
4  the  gardens  and  the  goodly  walks.7 
Will  you  sing  it  for  me  now  ?" 

Then,  with  the  blue  calm  lake 
glimmering  in  the  sunshine  before 
them,  and  the  soft  wind  among  the 
trees  as  an  accompaniment,  Eugene 
in  a  deep  manly  voice  sang : 

"Thy  gardens  and  thy  goodly  walks, 

Continually  are  green, 
Where  grow  such  sweet  and  pleasant  flowers 

As  nowhere  else  are  seen," 

with   the   remaining  verses   of  that 
quaint  and  beautiful  hymn. 


32  VICTOR. 

"  How  different  the  religion  of 
Paul  and  of  my  poor  aunt,  Eugene !" 
said  Victor  as  they  left  the  house, 
"Her's  is  all  gloom,  and  his  all 
glory." 


LES  PEAIEIES.  33 

CHAPTER  III. 

LES  PEAIEIES. 

Though  still  so  firm  a  Romanist, 
Justine  had  lived  several  years  with 
a  Protestant  family  of  high  Christian 
character.  Madame  la  Roche  had 
found  her  a  delicate  orphan  in  sunny 
Provence,  and  taken  her  home  to  be 
maid  and  playfellow  to  her  own  little 
daughters.  When  their  mother  died 
the  young  ladies  still  retained  their 
interest  in  her.  They  loved  her  as  a 
sister,  and  never  treated  her  as  an  in- 
ferior. To  them  she  always  went  in 
every  perplexity;  and  to  tell  them 
her  trouble,  as  well  as  to  bring  home 
some  work  she  had  been  doing  for 
them,  she  came  this  afternoon. 

She  found  the  young  ladies  sitting 
ir  the  library  with  their  books  and 


34  VICTOE. 

work  around  them.  Every  thing  in 
the  room  was  familiar  to  her.  Often 
had  she  sat  there  and  worked  with 
Madame  la  Roche,  often  played  with 
the  young  ladies,  then  children  like 
herself.  It  was  a  lofty  room  with 
dark  oaken  panels  and  crimson  fur- 
niture. The  long  arched  windows 
opened  on  the  lawn,  and  high  book- 
cases stood  between  them.  Through 
the  windows  on  one  side  were  seen 
mountains  in  the  distance;  on  the 
other  side  the  blue  lake  glimmered 
in  the  sunshine,  and  the  broad  green 
meadows  were  seen  that  gave  their 
name  to  the  place. 

"Ah,  Justine,"  said  Mademoiselle 
Ernestine,  "  'tis  long  since  we've  seen 
you  !  Sit  down  ;  you  look  pale ;  are 
you  not  well  ?" 

"  Not  very  strong,  dear  mademoi- 
selle, yet  not  ill." 

"You  work  too  constantly,  Justine," 


LES  PEAIEIES.  35 

said  Mademoiselle  Constance,  as  Jus- 
tine opened  a  basket  trimmed  with 
bows  of  blue  ribbon  and  took  some 
work  from  it.  "  This  should  not  have 
been  done  yet;  why  sew  so  con- 
tinually when  Louis  has  a  good  trade 
and  only  you  to  support  ?" 

"And  Victor." 

"Yes,  Victor;  and  how  is  he  and 
Louis  ?" 

"They  are  well,  thank  mademoi- 
selle ;  Victor  sends  his  love  to  both 
the  young  ladies." 

"  Thanks  !  and  does  Louis  love  him 
better  ?" 

"  ~No  better,  mademoiselle." 

And  then  poor  Justine,  in  her 
longing  for  sympathy,  told  all  her 
troubles. 

"  He's  crossed  in  every  thing,"  she 
said,  "  even  in  his  trade.  Since  he 
can't  be  a  sailor  he'd  like  to  be  a 
watchmaker  with  Eugene,  for  he  can't 


36  VICTOR. 

bear  to  sew  cushions  and  stuff 
sofas." 

"He  ought  to  be  with  Eugene. 
Victor  could  have  no  better  example ; 
all  speak  of  him  as  a  noble  young 
man,"  said  mademoiselle. 

Justine  was  silent ;  she  was  often 
as  jealous  of  Eugene  as  Louis  was  of 
her. 

"  Say,  Justine,  don't  you  like  Eu- 
gene V  continued  Mademoiselle  Con- 
stance. 

"  On  some  accounts,  yes ;  on  others, 
no.  One  must  like  him  as  a  man ; 
but,  excuse  me,  dear  mademoiselle, 
he  obtrudes  his  religion  too  much." 

11  He's  not  obtrusive,  though  very 
firm.  What  kind  of  religion  is  it 
that  never  shows  itself?  Papa  says 
that  Eugene  Lenoir  is  the  most  ad- 
mirable  young  person  he  knows." 

Justine  shrugged  her  shoulders. 

"Ah,    Justine,    his    faith    doesn't 


LES  PEAIEIES.  37 

please  you.  Do  you  remember  how 
hard  you  used  to  try  to  turn  me  from 
the  religion  of  my  dear  Huguenot 
ancestors  when  you  dressed  my 
hair?" 

"  I  was  so  young  then,  Mademoi- 
selle Constance ;  but  I  don't  talk 
about  it  now ;  my  cure  says  I  had 
better  not  speak  of  my  belief  to 
others." 

"  Dear  Justine,  how  I  wish  that 
cure  of  yours  would  direct  your  faith 
to  the  true  source ;  indeed,  indeed, 
there's  no  safety  out  of  Christ." 

"  We  of  our  Church  surely  believe 
in  Christ,  mademoiselle." 

"In  some  sort,  but  it  never  ap- 
peared to  me  to  be  a  belief  that 
brings  the  least  peace  or  joy  with  it. 
It  don't  teach  you  to  go  to  Christ 
confidently,  expecting  him  to  hear 
and  answer  your  prayers." 

"  We  dare  not  go  to  Christ  himself, 


38  VICTOR. 

because  we  are  so  sinful.  But  the 
blessed  saints  and  the  holy  Virgin 
pray  for  us." 

"  Why  not  go  to  the  only  mediator 
between  God  and  man,  who  so  plainly 
says,  4  Come  unto  me  V  " 

"Ah,  mademoiselle,  you  are  saying 
Bible  words  though  the  book  isn't 
open  by  you.  Eather  Gautier  says  I 
mustn't  hear  them.  He  says  you 
Protestants  idolize  the  Bible,  and 
have  a  cunning  way  of  bringing  in  its 
words  everywhere." 

"  No  doubt  Father  Gautier  fears 
the  Bible,  for  'tis  a  mighty  weapon 
even  in  an  infant's  hands.  But  you 
and  I  mustn't  quarrel,  Justine,  though 
we  may  have  a  little  tilt  together 
sometimes.  No,  we  must  always  love 
each  other.  You  know  you  were  as 
a  daughter  to  dear  mamma  while  she 
lived." 

"  Yes,"   said    Justine,    wiping  •  her 


LES  PEAIRIES.  39 

eyes,  "  Madame  never  was  a  mistress, 
but  always  a  kind  mother  to  me,  from 
the  time  she  took  me,  a  young  orphan, 
till—" 

"That  naughty  Louis  coaxed  you 
away  from  us,"  said  the  younger  sister 
with  a  smile. 

"But  I've  always  wanted  to  see 
the  region  from  whence  she  brought 
you.  The  very  name  of  Provence 
smells  of  roses  and  orange  flowers. 
The  vale  of  Cash  mire  with  its  forests 
of  roses  can't  equal  it." 

"  No,  mademoiselle,  I  suppose  not ; 
they  say  that  no  odor  in  the  world  is 
equal  to  that  made  by  the  bee  when 
he  mixes  the  pollen  of  the  orange 
flower  with  that  of  the  rose." 

Mademoiselle  Constance  here  went 
out  of  the  room  and  returned  with  a 
small  ebony  and  gold  casket,  which 
she  opened,  and  taking  from  thence 
a  tiny  box,  showed  a  vial  of  liliputian 


40  VICTOK. 

dimensions,  which  she  said  contained 
a  few  drops  of  the  essence  that  Jus- 
tine spoke  of.  It  was  rare,  and  fab- 
ulously dear.  But  she  allowed  Jus- 
tine one  breath  of  the  precious  per- 
fume.   • 

"Thanks,  many  thanks,  dear  mad- 
emoiselle !  It  has  the  true  Provencal 
odor." 

When  the  cabinet  was  put  up  the 
conversation  again  turned  to  Victor, 
and  the  elder  sister  told  Justine  that 
she  worked  too  hard,  and  must  not 
kill  herself  for  him. 

"  Indeed,  mademoiselle,  he  more 
than  makes  up  to  me  all  I  do  for 
him.  Never  child  loved  a  mother 
better  than  he  loves  me.  He's  the 
sun  of  my  life." 

"  But  I  still  think  he  would  do 
better  away  from  Louis." 

"No  doubt;  but  then  Louis  says 
if  he  leaves  his  house  he  must  also 


LES  PRAIRIES.  41 

leave  the  town.  So  there's  hut  one 
other  place  for  the  clear  boy;  our 
Uncle  Pierre's  in  Paris." 

Both  the  young  ladies  protested 
against  Paris,  and  nothing  was  de- 
cided. Mademoiselle  Constance  paid 
Justine  liberally  for  her  work,  but 
her  sympathy  and  kindness  was  more 
to  her  than  the  money. 

Father  Gautier  was  just  going  into 
Justine's  door  as  she  reached  it.  He 
seemed  to  divine  that  she  had  money, 
and  at  once  reminded  her  of  a  small 
sum  due  to  him  for  some  ecclesiasti- 
cal service.  The  father  was  a  crafty 
man,  with  a  keen  eye  to  his  own  in- 
terest. Louis  was  angry  at  him  for 
his  influence  over  Justine. 

"I  hate  to  have  him  come  stealing 
in  here  like  a  cat,"  he  would  say.  "  I 
hate  those  black  soataines*  and  every 

*  Soutaine  is  the  long  black  coat  buttoned  to 
the  throat  worn  by  Romish  priests. 


42  VICTOE. 

thing  connected  with  them;"  and  he 
only  became  more  violent  if  his  wife 
defended  her  spiritual  guide  and  con- 
fessor. 

Louis  was  a  hard,  stern  man,  who 
cared  for  neither  Protestant  nor  Ro- 
manist. Truly  the  dove  was  mated 
with  the  lion  when  Justine  married 
him. 


GOOD  PEOPLE  AND   BAD.  43 

CHAPTEE  IV. 

GOOD  PEOPLE  AND    BAD* 

Eugene  Lenoip,  as  Mademoiselle 
Constance  had  said,  was  truly  an 
admirable  person,  and  Providence 
seemed  in  him  to  have  given  Victor 
exactly  the  friend  that  he  needed. 
Though  his  superior  in  age,  education, 
and,  indeed,  in  everything  else,  he 
always  treated  Victor  as  an  equal, 
and  made  him  at  ease  in  his  society. 
The  whole  Lenoir  family  would  have 
made  a  quaint  but  interesting  picture. 
The  two  young  people  worked  be- 
fore an  antique  window,  high  and 
deep;  a  heavy  walnut  cabinet  richly 
carved  stood  near  them,  and  also  an 
old  time  clock  of  curious  workman- 
ship. In  two  high-backed  chairs  the 
venerable  father  and  mother  sat,  both 


44  VICTOR. 

wearing  the  costume  of  their  native 
Canton.  Lolotte's  was  a  blue  tight- 
fitting  jacket  over  a  vest  of  crimson 
cloth,  and  a  wide  flapped  cap  with  a 
dark  Benais  hood.  Adrien's  beauti- 
ful white  hair,  tall  form,  and  benevo- 
lent face  would  have  made  his  a  noble 
portrait  independent  of  his  dress. 

Their  son,  though  only  a  simple 
mechanic,  who  supported  his  parents 
by  the  labor  of  his  hands,  was  yet  a 
gentleman  and  a  scholar.  He  had 
fitted  up  an  apartment,  which  opened 
out  of  the  family  sitting  room,  with 
shelves,  on  which  he  placed  his 
library.  There  he  hung  some  small, 
but  really  good  pictures ;  and  a  few 
plaister  casts  stood  on  a  walnut  table 
colored  by  himself.  There  were 
scientific  instruments  that  he  knew 
how  to  use,  and  botanical  specimens 
that  showed  the  nature  of  his  pur- 
suits.    Here  Victor  had  the  privilege 


GOOD  PEOPLE  AND   BAD.  45 

of  spending  many  evenings  with  his 
friend,  who  allowed  him  to  look  over 
his  books  and  see  him  practice  his 
chemical  experiments. 

In  the  company  of  the  Lenoirs  the 
words  of  the  Lord  often  fell  upon 
Victor's  ear  if  they  did  not  touch  his 
heart.  But  the  violet  buried  under 
the  leaves  of  winter  again  revives  and 
bears  its  expected  flower ;  and  so  it 
is  often  with  that  word  which  God 
has  said  shall  not  return  unto  him 
void. 

One  day  Victor  slipped  in,  and 
looking  over  Eugene's  shoulder,  said : 

"Yours  is  truly  man's  work;  it's 
only  my  uncle's  whim  that  keeps  me 
from  it." 

"And  is  it  not  woman's  also? 
What  would  Eugene  do  without  my 
fingers  V  said  Henriette. 

"  However  that  may  be,  it  requires 
mind  as  well  as  fingers  for  your  work. 


46  VICTOR. 

But  for  mine  !  O  this  perpetual  sort- 
ing of  satins  and  shading  of  fringes, 
this  hanging  of  draperies,  and  making 
of  cushions,  'tis  absolutely  hateful. 
That  should  be  woman's  work,  Hen- 
riette." 

"Should  I  hammer  nails  and 
mount  a  step-ladder  ?"  asked  Hen- 
riette,  smiling. 

"  Ah,  my  dear,"  said  her  mother, 
"  the  poor  country  women  of  France 
do  harder  things  than  these.  I  have 
seen  them  in  the  fields  harnessed  to 
the  plow  beside  a  donkey." 

"  The  life  of  a  poor  French  woman 
is  a  hard  one,  be  it  in  the  city  or 
country,"  said  Adrien. 

"I  believe  you  are  right,  Father 
Adrien,"  said  Victor.  "  Look  at  my 
aunt,  who  though  so  slight  and  deli- 
cate yet  works  early  and  late." 

"  Yet  her  lot  is  comparatively  an 
easy  one,"  said  Eugene. 


GOOD  PEOPLE  AND  BAD.  47 

"  O  she  wants  to  be  loved  !  to  be 
treated  gently  and  kindly,"  said 
Victor. 

"  Make  her  path  smooth  by  your 
gentleness  and  forbearance,  Victor," 
said  good  Father  Adrien.  "We 
cannot  accommodate  the  events  of 
this  life  to  ourselves ;  we  must  then 
accommodate  ourselves  to  them. 
Above  all,  we  must  try  to  get  the 
spirit  of  Him  who  was  meek  and 
lowly  of  heart.  Then  we  can  bear 
provocations.  Then,  though  reviled 
we  shall  not  want  to  revile  again. 
O  why  are  we  not  more  like  Him 
whose  beautiful  example  is  so  clearly 
set  before  us  in  this  blessed  book  I" 
at  the  same  time  laying  his  hand 
upon  the  volume  by  his  side. 

A  few  days  after  this,  as  Victor  in 
the  cool  of  the  morning  was  opening 
his  uncle's  shop,  he  was  greeted  by 
his  young  acquaintance  Jean  Leroy. 


48  VICTOR. 

He  was  a  good-natured  youth,  full  of 
fun  and  merriment,  and  always  ready 
with  his  joke. 

"  Good  morning,  my  friend  ;  the 
young  seamstress  over  the  way  has 
beaten  you,  early  as  you  thought 
yourself.  I  saw  her  feed  her  canary 
as  I  came  down  the  street,  and  now 
she  is  sitting  at  her  work." 

"And  the  canary  is  paying  her  by 
that  merry  song,  I'm  sure,"  said  Vic- 
tor. 

"  Yes,  how  well  they  keep  time 
together,  listen!"  and  they  both 
listened  to  hear  how  well  the 
seamstress  and  the  bird  sang  in 
concert.  Then  Jean  said,  as  he 
moved  off, 

"  How  is  the  good  Justine  ?  and 
how  also  is  the  war-horse  this  morn- 
ing ?" 

"  Thanks ;  my  aunt  is  quite  well, 
and   the   war-horse   has  been  tamer 


GOOD  PEOPLE  AND   BAD.  49 

than  usual  for  a  few  clays/'  answered 
Victor  with  a  bright  smile. 

He  had  scarcely  said  the  words 
when  Louis  turned  a  corner,  and 
Victor  felt  sure  that  he  had  heard 
him.  It  was  truly  so ;  when  he 
began  his  work  Louis  said  to  him, 
with  that  dark  look  which  he  well 
understood, 

"  Go  to  Madame  Bonnet  and  ask 
what  color  she  wishes  the  hangings 
of  her  salon." 

"  I  went  last  night,  as  you  bade  me, 
and  she  told  me  green." 

"  Go  to  her  again  ;  I  know  'twasn't 
green." 

"  I'm  sure  that  it's  green ;  to  be 
certain  I  asked  for  a  bit  of  silk  of  the 
right  color,  and  she  gave  me  this," 
showing  a  small  piece  of  green  rib- 
bon. 

Louis  seemed  baffled  for  a  moment, 
but  soon  said, 


50  VICTOR. 

"I  thought  'twas  green  from  the 
first,  but  when  you  came  back  before 
you  said  'twas  blue.  You're  a  blun- 
derhead !" 

"  I  always  said  'twas  green,"  said 
Victor  sullenly. 

"  I'll  not  be  contradicted  by  an 
insolent  boy.  Go  to  her  that  ruins 
you  and  tell  her  to  keep  you  from 
my  sight." 

This  allusion  to  his  aunt  softened 
Victor  at  once. 

"  But,  uncle,  what  have  I  done  ?  I 
simply  told  the  truth." 

"  You  were  insolent,  disrespectful." 

"  I  beg  your  pardon,  uncle ;  if  I 
have  spoken  disrespectfully,  I  did  not 
mean  it ;  I  think  you  misunderstood 
me." 

"Did  I  misunderstand  you  when 
you  and  that  monkey,  Jean  Leroy, 
made  me  your  sport  ?  Begone  from 
my  shop,  and  soon  from  my  house 


GOOD  PEOPLE  AND  BAD.  51 

also.  Not  even  for  madame's  sake 
will  I  keep  you.  You  shall  go  hence, 
and  at  once." 

Justine  and  Victor  wept  together 
when  he  went  home.  Louis  came 
home  in  a  miserable  humor,  and  it 
was  fortunate  for  Victor  that  he  had 
a  friend  in  Eugene,  who  was  willing 
to  share  his  chamber  with  him.  Vic- 
tor felt  that  he  was  remembered  by 
him  when  he  knelt  by  his  bed  before 
lying  down  to  rest  and  offered  up  his 
silent  prayer. 

After  the  last  scene  Justine  again 
went  to  consult  her  friends  at  Les 
Prairies.     They  said : 

"  The  child's  disposition,  which  is 
naturally  so  sweet  and  good,  will  be 
ruined  by  such  a  course  of  treatment. 
Justine,  you  must  make  up  your  mind 
to  part  with  him." 

"01  know  it !  but  he's  so  young !" 

"If  young  he's  also  healthy  and 


52  yiCTOE. 

intelligent,  and  anything  is  preferable 
to  living  in  such  strife.  Perhaps 
papa  can  find  a  place  for  him." 

u  Louis  would  not  suffer  that.  He 
says  Victor  shall  leave  Geneva. 
He's  going,  to  write  to  Uncle  Pierre 
about  him.  And  that's  so  far  !"  said 
Justine,  crying  very  much. 

"  Paris  isn't  the  place  for  him," 
said  Constance.  "  I  should  prefer 
almost  any  other." 

But  Louis  would  hear  of  no  other 
place,  and  Uncle  Pierre  returned  a 
cordial  answer.  He  said  he  had 
loved  poor  Philippe,  the  boy's  father. 
He  was  a  good  youth,  and  he  would 
treat  his  son  well  for  the  father's 
sake.  So  it  was  settled  that  Victor 
should  go  to  Paris.  Eugene  urged 
that  he  should  stay  with  him  till  he 
was  ready  to  go ;  but  Mademoiselle 
Constance  wished  him  to  stay  at  the 
lodge   with   Paul,   and  Victor  knew 


GOOD  PEOPLE  AND    BAD.  53 

that  they  had  no  more  room  than 
was  needed  at  Adrien's.  So  he  went 
over  to  the  lodge,  but  was  with  Jus- 
tine and  Adrien's  family  every  day. 

When  Victor  told  old  Paul  that  he 
was  going  to  Paris,  he  said : 

"  Why,  dear  little  friend,  will  they 
turn  you  adrift,  and  leave  you  to 
make  your  way  all  alone  over  the 
wide  sea?  No  danger,  however,  if 
you  have  Jesus  for  a  pilot.  Keep 
your  eye  on  him  and  don't  throw 
your  compass  overboard." 

Victor  understood  Paul's  figure, 
and  said : 

"  Everybody  gives  me  good  advice, 
Paul ;  you  and  Father  Adrien  send 
me  to  Jesus,  and  my  aunt  to  the 
saints." 

To  this  Paul  murmured  softly : 

"  Call  now  if  there  be  any  to  an- 
swer thee,  and  to  which  of  the  saints 
wilt    thou    turn  ?"    but    Victor    did 


54  VICTOR. 

not  understand  what   his   quotation 
meant. 

Louis  went  briskly  to  work  to  get 
Victor's  livret  made  out  and  properly 
indorsed  by  the  mayor  and  his  as- 
sistants. This  livret  is  a  little  book 
with  a  full  description  of  the  person 
who  carries  it,  his  name,  age,  birth 
place,  and  occupation ;  in  short,  with 
every  particular  concerning  him.  A 
traveler  without  his  li/vret  would  be 
liable  to  be  taken  up  for  a  vagabond. 
Justine  wept  aud  sewed  for  Victor 
while  he  yet  remained  with  her. 
She  lamented  that  everybody  was  so 
generous  and  kind  to  her  boy  that 
they  left  her  nothing  but  stitch- 
es to  give  him.  Indeed,  he  was 
a  general  favorite,  and  received 
keepsakes  from  the  ladies  at  Les 
Prairies  down  to  good  old  Paul. 
When  Victor  saw  how  very  miserable 
the  thought  of  his  departure  made 


GOOD  PEOPLE  AND  BAD.  55 

his  poor  aunt,  he  could  not  but  re- 
proach himself  for  not  feeling .  more 
sorry.  But  how  could  a  boy  of  four- 
teen with  the  prospect  of  going  up 
to  the  "  great  fair  of  the  world "  fir* 
the  first  time  be  expected  to  feel 
otherwise  than  glad  ?  Yet  he  dearly 
loved  his  aunt,  and  now  could  refuse 
her  nothing.  So  at  her  request  he 
went  with  her  the  day  before  he  left 
Geneva  to  ask  Father  Gautier's  bless- 
ing.    This  was  readily  given. 

"  Did  he  ask  you  anything  for  it, 
aunt  ?"  said  Victor. 

Justine  blushed  and  said, 
"  I  chose  to  give  him  something." 
"And  he  took  it  ?" 
"  Of  course,  he'd  not  refuse." 
Paul  was  a  slow  reader  and  had 
very  poor  sight.     The  night  before 
Victor   left  him  he  half  spelt,  half 
read   by  the  dim  light  of  his  iron 
lamp  the  words,  "  Whosoever  drink- 


56  VICTOR. 

eth  of  the  water  that  I  shall  give 
him  shall  never  thirst ;  but  the 
water  that  I  shall  give  him  shall  be 
in  him  a  well  of  water  springing  up 
into  everlasting  life."  He  did  not 
know  that  Victor  heard  him,  because 
he  lay  in  bed  apparently  asleep. 
But  the  words,  from  the  slow  manner 
in  which  he  pronounced  them,  were 
impressed  upon  the  boy's  memory 
ever  after.  The  old  man  had  a  way 
of  talking  to  himself,  and  as  Victor 
watched  him  with  half-shut  eyes,  he 
heard  him  say  :* 

"  Sweet  blessed  words  from  my 
Saviour's  own  lips.  They  make  me 
think  of  what  is  said  in  another  place. 
Yes,  I  must  find  them  ;  they  always 
do  me  more  good  than  a  draught  of 
wine.     Ah,  here  they  are  !" 

Then  as  slowly  as  before  he  read  : 
"  If  any  man  thirst  let  him  come  unto 
*  See  Frontispiece. 


GOOD  PEOPLE  AND   BAD.  57 

me  and  drink."  Laden  with  the 
scent  of  mignionette  and  honey-suc- 
kle, the  evening  breeze  came  into  the 
window  and  played  with  the  gray 
hair  of  the  good  old  man  and  rustled 
the  leaves  of  his  Bible.  Victor  saw 
him  close  his  eyes  for  a  moment,  and 
then,  looking  up  with  a  fixed  gaze,  he 
raised  his  thin  and  wrinkled  hands 
and.  said : 

"  My  Saviour,  I  thirst  for  thee ; 
give  me  that  living  water  that  I  may 
never  thirst  for  forbidden  things,  nor 
go  to  earthly  wells  to  draw." 

When  Victor  in  after  days  saw  the 
reflection  of  this  picture  it  was  under 
far  different  circumstances. 


58  VICTOR. 


CHAPTER  V. 

PARIS. 

The  warm  bright  summer  was 
changing  fast  into  the  no  less  beauti- 
ful autumn,  when  Victor,  with  his 
knapsack  on  his  back  and  his  staff  in 
his  hand,  bade  farewell  to  the  scenes 
of  his  youth.  All  before  him  was 
fair  and  luminous,  and  the  present 
was  dressed  in  magical  tints  of 
beauty.  His  journey  was  made 
alternately  on  foot  and  in  chance 
conveyances.  He  had  money  to 
travel  otherwise,  but  he  wished  to 
become  acquainted  with  the  people 
and  the  country.  Besides,  there  was 
a  greater  sense  of  freedom  and  inde- 
pendence in  taking  his  "  views 
afoot,"  like  several  of  our  own  coun- 
trymen.    The  journey  was  altogether 


PAEIS.  59 

a  pleasant  one,  and  he  reached  Paris 
safely. 

It  was  not  then  the  elegant  city 
which  it  has  since  become,  but  around 
it  was  the  same  clear  atmosphere  and 
in  it  the  same  air  of  gayety  and  life 
as  now.  Victor  felt  as  if  he  was 
entering  fairy-land  when  he  first  saw 
the  towers  and  domes  of  the  public 
buildings  standing  out  against  the 
clear  blue  sky,  and  he  was  filled  with 
wonder  and  delight  at  the  splendid 
equipages  and  the  gay  and  motley 
crowd  that  thronged  the  busy  streets. 
After  passing  through  several  streets 
lined  with  superb  shops,  he  reached 
the  more  retired  one  to  which  he  had 
been  directed.  He  found  his  uncle, 
and  was  most  cordially  received  by 
him.  He  was  a  hale  old  gentleman, 
with  thick  gray  hair,  and  bright  black 
eyes  that  twinkled  with  life  and  good- 
humor.     His  shop  was  on  the  lower 


60  VICTOR. 

floor,  but  his  apartments  in  the  fourth 
story.  After  calling  him  a  handsome 
boy,  and  kissing  him  on  both  cheeks 
in  true  French  fashion,  he  led  him  up 
into  a  room  with  a  waxed  floor, 
several  mirrors,  a  few  chairs,  and  a 
table. 

"Here  we  eat,"  he  said.  "You 
share  my  chamber ;  not  but  what  I 
have  two,  but  our  good  Jerome  must 
not  be  incommoded." 

"  And  who  is  Jerome,  uncle  ?" 
"  A  shattered  fortress  with  a  strong 
citadel;  a  wounded  soldier  with  a 
heart  as  young  as  your  own.  We 
were  youthful  companions,  but  took 
different  paths  in  life.  He  chose  a 
stormy,  I  a  peaceful  one.  I  was 
drawn  for  a  conscript;  he  was  my 
substitute.  He  has  fought  for  his 
country,  given  her  his  youth,  his 
strength,  and  a  limb,  and  she  has 
given  him  no  reward." 


PAEIS.  61 

From  this  speech  Victor  concluded 
justly  that  the  old  soldier  was  a  de- 
pendent on  his  uncle's  bounty. 

Pierre  spoke  frankly  of  his  cir- 
cumstances. He  liked  to  talk  and 
was  glad  of  a  new  listener.  He 
said: 

"  You  may  think  my  place  gloomy, 
nephew,  for  neither  I  nor  my  street 
are  the  fashion  now.  Pachouli  and  a 
hundred  other  vile  scents  compete 
with  the  rich  Provencal  odor  which 
only  I  sell.  But  nevertheless  I  live, 
and  well  too,  and  have  something 
handsome  put  aside.  To  all  I  have 
you  are  welcome,  not  excepting  the 
lit  de  scmgle*  which  is  waiting  in 
my  chamber  for  you.  I  live  without 
domestics,"  he  continued.  "I  cannot 
bear  to  have  women  about  me. 
Etienne,    my   shop   boy,  brings  our 

*  Lit  de  sangle  is  a  cot  which  can  be  folded  and 
set  against  the  wall. 


62  VICT0K. 

meals  from  the  restaurant  when  we 
do  not  go  there  to  get  them  ourselves^ 
and  Francois,  a  man  of  all  work, 
cleans  our  rooms  for  us  thoroughly 
once  a  week.  It  is  then  our  part  to 
keep  them  in  order." 

The  street  in  which  Pierre  Desait's 
shop  then  stood  has  since  been  pulled 
down,  and  entirely  rebuilt.  It  had 
been  a  good  situation  for  business, 
but,  as  he  told  Victor,  it  was  now  no 
longer  so.  People  went  elsewhere 
for  their  perfumes,  although  his 
character  for  honesty  and  fair  dealing 
still  secured  him  valuable  customers. 
His  uncle  did  not  keep  Victor  with- 
out refreshment  while  he  said  all 
these  things,  for  he  was  full  of  hos- 
pitable care  for  him  in  every  respect. 
"When  he  left  Victor  to  change  his 
clothes  and  brush  off  the  dust  of  the 
journey,  he  told  him  that  they  would 
go  to  a  cafe  to  dine  when  the  shop 


PARIS.  63 

was  closed.  As  Victor  dressed  he 
heard  a  cracked  voice  singing  the 
Marsellaise  with  great  vivacity  in  the 
adjoining  chamber.  The  musician 
proved  to  be  the  old  soldier,  who 
met  and  saluted  him  on  the  stairs. 
He  was,  indeed,  a  shattered  fortress, 
for  his  face  was  scarred  and  he  had 
lost  a  leg.  Yet  his  eyes  were  full  of 
fire,  and  his  upright  form  and  martial 
air,  with  his  gray  moustache,  and  a 
ribbon  of  some  order  in  his  button- 
hole, made  him  still  a  distinguished 
looking  person.  His  frankness  and 
gayety  attracted  Victor  at  once. 

He  was  soon  at  home  in  his  new 
situation,  and  but  for  thoughts  of 
those  he  had  left  would  have  been 
perfectly  happy.  As  it  was  he  en- 
joyed himself  much,  being  neither  of 
an  age  nor  disposition  for  care  to  prey 
upon.  He  had  employment  enough 
to    occupy    without    fatiguing    him, 


64  VICTOK. 

and  met  with  no  frowns  nor  unkind 
speeches.  Pierre  called  him  a  bon 
gargo7i1  (good  boy,)  dismissed  Etienne, 
his  assistant  in  the  shop,  put  Victor 
in  his  place,  and  trusted  him  fully. 
He  led  a  merry  life  with  his  old 
friends.  They  were  as  mirthful  as 
children,  and  disposed  to  enjoy  every- 
thing within  their  reach.  His  uncle 
often  took  Victor  to  see  the  sights  "of 
the  grand  city,  its  pictures,  its  gar- 
dens, its  brilliant  streets,  and  also  the 
pleasant  country  outside.  I  am  sorry 
to  say  that  Sunday  was  the  season 
generally  set  aside  for  these  recrea- 
tions. Eugene  wrote  to  Victor  in  an- 
swer to  a  letter  in  which  he  described 
a  rural  fete  he  had  attended. 

"  Pleasant  as  your  situation  is,  dear 
Victor,  I  see  that  it  is  full  of  danger. 
One  wants  strong  principles,  a  clear 
judgment,  and  much  self-control  to  be 
good  in  Paris.     You  will  not  do  well 


i 


■  ._ 


Jerome   recounting   his    Exploits  to  Victor. 


PAEIS.  67 

if  you  do  not  study  God's  word,  pray 
much,  and  keep  holy  the  Sabbath-day, 
and  who  have  you  to  encourage  you 
to  do  so  V 

Eugene  knew  how  attractive  evil 
is  made  in  Paris,  how  sin  is  glossed 
over  by  beauty,  and  he  trembled  and 
prayed  for  his  young  friend. 

Victor  became  as  great  a  favorite 
of  Jerome  as  of  his  uncle.  He 
brought  new  joy  into  the  old  house. 
Jerome  was  flattered  by  the  boy's  in- 
terest in  his  old-time  stories,  and  in 
the  eagerness  with  which  he  listened 
to  his  details  of  military  life.  He 
was  delighted  to  see  his  eyes  glow  and 
his  color  deepen,  as  he  told  him  of 
feats  of  bravery  done  at  Austerlitz 
and  Marengo.  At  first  Pierre  enjoyed 
this,  because  it  so  pleased  his  dear  old 
friend..  But  he  was  rather  startled 
one  evening  when,  after  the  old  vet- 
eran had  literally  — j 


V  Vr 


68  VICTOR. 

"Shouldered  his  crutch  to  show  how  fields  were 
won." 

Victor  suddenly  asked, 

"Uncle  Jerome,  how  old  must  a 
boy  be  before  be  can  enter  the 
army  V 

"  He  must  be  two  years  older  than 
you  are  now,  my  boy,,;  said  the 
soldier,  smiling.  "  But,"  becoming 
grave,  he  added  mysteriously,  "  who 
knows  ?  Much  may  occur  in  less  than 
two  years.  Sometimes  one  may  live 
on  a  volcano  and  not  know  it." 

Pierre  look  displeased: 

"  Hush,  my  friend,  your  hints  are 
dangerous." 

Jerome's  words  and  looks  dwelt  in 
Victor's  mind.  But  whenever  the 
subject  was  approached  afterward 
Pierre  changed  the  conversation,  Vic- 
tor sometimes  thought  in  an  uneasy 
manner.  Once  Victor  asked  him 
what  Jerome  meant,  and  he  said, 


PAKIS.  69 

"His  head  is  always  full  of  fight- 
ing. He's  not  broken  and  mauled 
enough,  yet.  He  would  like  to  give 
up  his  other  leg  and  his  two  arms 
also." 

"-"Will  there  be  fighting,  uncle? 
shall  we  have  war  ?" 

"  No,  my  boy,  I  trust  not ;  I'm  not 
fond  of  war ;  I  remember  Waterloo, 
and  all  the  ruin  that  preceded  and 
followed  it." 

5 


70  VICTOR. 

CHAPTER  VI. 

StJSAIfNE. 

There  lived  in  the  attic  of  Pierre's 
house  a  poor  woman  named  Susanne ; 
Mother  Susanne  she  was  called  by 
everybody.  There  was  something 
about  her  which  made  people  give 
her  that  title.  She  had  few  pleasures, 
she  was  so  very  poor.  Perhaps  the 
greatest  enjoyment  of  her  life  was  to 
feed  a  few  sparrows  with  the  crumbs 
which  she  every  day  saved  from  her 
own  meager  breakfast.  She  thanked 
God  that  she  had  something  to  give 
to  those  little  creatures  of  his.  They 
would  have  loved  her  even  better 
than  they  did,  had  they  known  that 
she  went  more  hungry  for  the  little 
she  gave  to  them.  But  their  enjoy- 
ment  repaid    her   for    the    sacrifice. 


SUSANNE.  71 

They  seemed  to  her  like  friends,  and 
she  felt  thankful  to  the  good  God  for 
making  her  the  almoner  of  the  food 
he  sent  them.  She  felt  the  love  of 
the  Saviour  so  penetrate  her  soul 
that  it  made  it  yearn  with  tenderness 
over  every  creature  he  has  made. 

One  day  Victor  saw  her  take  her 
tiny  cup  to  the  milk-woman's  to  be 
filled.  On  her  way  back  a  wan  child 
asked  her  for  a  trifle. 

"  Alas !  I  have  no  money,  but  drink 
this." 

The  child  drank  it,  and  when 
Susanne  did  not  return,  Victor  kuew 
that  she  had  given  away  a  part  of 
her  breakfast  and  had  no  money  to 
buy  more. 

Another  time  he  met  her  on  the 
stairs  with  a  hungry  boy,  who 
thanked  her  for  the  piece  of  bread 
he  held  in  his  hand.  He  heard  her 
say, 


72  VICTOR. 

tc  Poor  child,  it  cannot  satisfy  j  jut 
hunger!  would  that  I  had  another 
piece  to  give  you !" 

Victor  ran  into  the  room  where 
they  had  just  breakfasted,  and  took 
a  roll  from  the  table,  which  he  carried 
to  the  boy.  Susanne  saw  him,  and 
said  with  glistening  eyes : 

"  God  will  reward  you,  my  good 
young  friend.  He  sees  the  cup  of 
cold  water  handed  to  his  little  one !" 

From  that  hour  Susanne  and  Vic- 
tor were  friends.  Her  words  were 
like  those  he  used  to  hear  at  Les 
Prairies  and  in  Adrien's  room.  He 
knew  that  Eugene,  Paul,  and  Susanne 
were  of  one  faith,  and  had  one  guide. 

Susanne  always  went  out  at  the 
same  hour  in  the  morning,  and  Vic- 
tor managed  to  meet  her  on  the  stairs 
next  day. 

a  Can  I  do  anything  for  you,  moth- 
er V  he  asked. 


StTSANNE.  73 

"You  did  much  for  me  yesterday, 
dear  child.  You  taught  me  how  the 
good  Father  puts  his  loving  spirit 
into  other  hearts.  I  was  all  day  long 
happier  for  your  kindness  to  that 
starving  boy." 

"  But  I  would  like  to  do  something 
for  you.  I  spoke  to  my  uncle  yester- 
day, and  he  said  I  might  visit  you  if 
you  would  allow  it." 

Susanne's  candid  face  expressed 
great  satisfaction. 

"  I  could  not  have  thought  or  asked 
it,  but  nothing  would  please  me  so 
well  as  a  visit  from  monsieur  in  my 
very  humble  room." 

Victor  went  next  day.  It  was  a 
humble  room,  indeed,  but  exquisitely 
clean.  It  had  a  bed,  a  table,  two 
chairs,  and  a  charcoal  furnace  for  its 
furniture ;  but  a  wall-flower  bloomed 
in  the  window.  Susanne  went  with- 
out her  breakfast  one  day  to  buy  it. 


74  VICTOR. 

She  had  now  gone  out,  and  Victor 
looked  up  at  the  sky,  which  seemed 
very  near,  and  down  at  the  streets 
that  seemed  far  off.  He  heard  the 
sparrows  chirp,  and  they  came  and 
stood  on  the  window  ledge  ;  but  they 
were  shy  of  him  till  he  pulled  a  bis- 
cuit from  his  pocket  and  began  to 
feed  them.  Then  Susanne,  who  had/ 
been  called  away  by  a  sick  neighbor, 
came  in.  Her  little  pets  knew  her, 
and  chirped  and  fluttered  with  de- 
light. 

"  The  great  God  who  is  '  clothed 
with  majesty'  tells  us  that  he  cares 
for  these  little  creatures,  does  he  not, 
monsieur  ?" 

"  I  suppose  so.  You  do  read  the 
Bible,  mother,  don't  you  ?" 

"  The  Bible  ?  O  it's  my  meditation 
through  the  day,  and  gives  me  songs 
in  the  night !" 

"I   thought   you   read   it  when  I 


SUSANNE.  75 

heard  you  speak  upon  the  stairs.  I 
have  dear  friends  at  home  who  are 
very  fond  of  it." 

"And  you  too  love  it,  I  trust, 
monsieur ;  what  better  guide  can  a 
youth  have  V 

Victor  was  confused.  Eugene  had 
given  him  a  Bible  as  a  parting  me- 
mento. But  what  time  had  he  to 
read  it  in  Paris  i  x\nother,  carefully 
wrapped  in  paper  and  covered  over 
with  a  mass  of  things  which  he  would 
not  be  likely  soon  to  want,  came  in 
the  large  trunk  which  a  carrier  from 
Geneva  had  brought  him.  It  was 
the  dying  gift  of  his  father,  but  his 
aunt  had  not  told  him  of  it.  She 
feared  that  the  book,  twice  hallowed 
by  the  circumstances  under  which  it 
was  given,  would  make  Victor  turn  to 
the  faith  of  those  who  profess  to 
govern  their  lives  by  it.  She  com- 
promised   with    her    conscience    by 


76  VICTOE. 

placing  it  in  the  bottom  of  the  trunk, 
which  he  had  never  yet  unpacked. 

Victor  answered  Susanne's  question 
by  saying : 

"I  have  a  Bible,  but  there's  so 
much  to  see  that  I  have  no  time  to 
read  it.  When  I  am  not  in  the  shop 
my  good  uncle  likes  me  to  be  in  the 
gardens." 

"Ah,  my  child,  those  are  gardens 
in  which  the  voice  of  God,  I  fear,  is 
not  often  heard,  especially  on  the 
holy  day  when  they  are  gayest  and 
most  inviting.  O  that  I  had  your 
eyes  to  read  the  Bible  !  See  here 
how  worn  mine  has  become,  and  the 
print  is  very  fine.  My  eyes  have  be- 
come so  weak  with  sewing  that  I 
sometimes  fear  I  shall  soon  be  able 
to  read  no  more." 

"  Mother,  I  will  read  to  you ;  my 
uncle  will  not  object;  he  is  kind,  and 
gives  me  time  for  my  own  pleasure. 


SUSANNE.  ^7 

A  part  of  it  will  I  gladly  give  to 
you." 

Susanne  had  been  sewing  rapidly 
on  some  coarse  work.  Tears  carne 
into  her  eyes  now,  which  she  wiped 
quietly  away.  Weeping  impairs  the 
sight,  and  the  poor  seamstress  who 
sews  in  the  gray  morning,  and  late 
into  the  dark  night,  cannot  afford  the 
luxury  of  shedding  tears. 

"  I  accept  your  offer,"  she  said  to 
Victor,  "with  many  thanks.  You 
will  be  rewarded  for  it.  It  is  writ- 
ten, '  He  that  hath  pity  upon  the 
poor  lendeth  to  the  Lord,  and  that 
which  he  hath  given  will  he  pay  him 
again.' " 

In  this  most  critical  period  of  Vic- 
tor's life  does  it  not  seem  as  if  He 
who  has  made  so  many  promises  to 
the  seed  of  the  righteous  did  most 
singularly  interpose  in  giving  him 
such  a  friend  as  Susanne  ?      It  cer- 


78  VICTOR. 

tainly  was  a  great  thing  for  him  to 
have  the  book  of  God  thus,  as  it 
were,  thrust  into  his  hands,  with  a 
new  motive  to  induce  him  to  read  it. 
From  that  day  Victor  never  missed 
reading  a  daily  lesson  to  Susanne 
from  the  book  that  was  so  precious 
to  her,  and  her  remarks  upon  it  made 
it  more  intelligible  to  him. 

He  said  to  her  one  day, 

"  Mother,  did  you  always  love  this 
book  so  well  V 

"  O  once  I  knew  nothing  of  it ! 
Mine  was  a  youth  of  vanity." 

"  Who  then  taught  you  to  love  it  V 

"  One  who  was  all  the  world  to  me 
when  she  lived,  and  who  shines  down 
from  heaven  on  me  now  like  the  pure 
star  which  comes  first  in  the  evening 
sky.  I  have  never  spoken  to  you  of 
my  Agnes.  Let  me  tell  you  of  her 
now.'1 

"  Like  me,  she  once  lived  with  no 


SUSANNE.  T9 

sense  of  God  but  what  she  drew  from 
outward  things ;  and  nature  and  the 
mere  ceremonies  of  religion  speak 
faintly  of  him.  Of  God's  spiritual 
nature,  of  ourselves  as  sinners,  of  the 
blessed  Saviour  who  came  to  seek 
and  to  save  the  lost,  we  knew  nothing 
at  all.  How  could  we  ?  The  Bible 
was  not  in  our  hands;  we  heard  no 
preaching  founded  on  it.  We  did 
not  always  live  in  an  attic,  monsieur. 
I  was  educated  in  a  convent,  and  the 
father  of  my  Agnes  was  proud  of  her 
and  sent  her  to  the  best  schools. 
But  when  he  died  we  had  to  do  as 
we  could.  I  came  to  this  place,  and 
she  went  as  bonne  (nurse)  into  an 
English  family.  They  asked  my 
Agnes  if  she  would  attend  family 
prayers.  She  did  not  object.  She 
heard  the  Bible  read  for  the  first 
time.  She  heard  the  family  sing  a 
beautiful  hymn  beginning, 


\ 


80  VICTOR. 

'  There  is  a  fountain  filled  with  blood 
Drawn  from  Immanuel's  veins.' 

She  did  not  understand  the  meaning 
of  it,  although  she  had  often  seen 
images  of  the  crucified  Saviour  in  our 
churches.  She  had  thought  it  enough 
to  bend  her  head  and  knees  before  it, 
and  perhaps  shed  a  tear  for  his  bodily 
sufferings.  But  to  have  that  sacrifice 
applied  inwardly — no,  she  under- 
stood nothing  of  it.  When  the 
family  had  sung,  they  knelt  and 
prayed.  Though  she  also  knelt, 
their  manner  of  praying  seemed 
strange." 

"  How  did  they  pray,  mother  V 

"  So  simply,  and  without  using  the 
sign  of  the  cross." 

"  O  !  like  Adrien  and  Paul.  Why, 
mother,  once  I  saw  a  man  pray  just 
sitting  still  in  his  chair.  But  please 
go  on  about  your  Agnes." 

"  Though  she  did  not  understand 


SUSASTNE.  81 

their  idea  of  worship  at  first,  it  all 
came  to  her  when  the  family  ex- 
plained what  spiritual  worship  is. 
They  took  much  pains  to  teach  her 
when  they  saw  how  willing  she  was 
to  learn.  If  they  told  her,  tenderly 
and  gently,  of  her  sinful  state  by  na- 
ture, they  also  told  her  of  the  love  of 
Jesus.  They  opened  the  Bible  before 
her,  they  read  it  with  her.  She 
learned  to  love  it.  On  every  page 
of  the  New  Testament  she  found  some 
tender  promise,  some  loving  word  of 
the  Saviour  to  live  and  abide  in  the 
heart  of  his  children.  My  Agnes  be- 
came a  happy  Christian,  and  then  she 
could  not  rest  till  she  had  made  me 
as  happy  as  herself. 

"  I  must  leave  you  and  the  darling 
little  ones,  dear  Mrs.  Herbert,"  she 
said  ;  "  another  duty  is  before  me ;  I 
must  go  to  my  dear  mother  and  try 
to  teach  her  what  I  have  learned  of 


82  VICTOK. 

you."  Mrs.  Herbert  was  unwilling. 
She  was  about  leaving  France,  and 
would  have  taken  Agnes  with  her. 
She  told  my  child  of  her  sweet  En- 
glish home,  so  spacious,  so  pleasant ! 
The  children  cried  at  the  thought  of 
her  leaving  them,  and  to  her  they 
were  very  dear.  But  she  gave  up  all 
for  me.  She  came  from  a  home  of 
luxury  to  my  poor  room,  that  she 
might  do  me  good.  She  brought  all 
her  little  saviugs  and  placed  them  in 
my  hands.  She  wanted  nothing  for 
herself.  She  only  desired  to  save  my 
soul.  Yet  I  did  not  understand  her. 
She  took  a  heavy  cold  in  helping  the 
Herberts  prepare  to  return  to  En- 
gland. I  think  this  was  increased 
by  the  different  manner  in  which 
she  had  to  live  after  she  came  to 
me.  For  several  Sundays  in  con- 
sequence of  it  ste  was  not  able  to 
go  out. 


SUSANNE.  83 

"  The  fourth  Sunday  was  a  beautiful 
one,  and  Agnes  was  able  to  leave  the 
house.     I  said  to  her : 

" c  How  charming  that  Sunday  is  so 
fine !  All  the  world  will  be  out  to- 
day, and  we  will  leave  our  stone 
cages  and  fly  away  too.  We'll  look 
at  the  crowd  in  the  Boulevards  first, 
and  then  to  the  Champs  Elysees.  The 
fountains  will  play  to-day,  and  beau- 
tiful they'll  be  in  the  sunshine.  I 
quite  long  to  see  them  and  the  flowers 
again.  You  must  put  off  your,  bon- 
nets cap  to-day,  my  Agnes,  and  wear 
the  blue  ribbons  that  become  you  so 
well.  I'm  sure  that  in  all  the  crowd 
there'll  be  no  prettier  girl  than 
mine.' 

"  Thus  foolishly  I  ran  on,  for  I  had 
great  spirits  then,  and  I  was  proud 
of  the  looks  of  my  child.  While  I 
spoke  Agnes  looked  down,  but  when 
I  stopped  she  said : 


84  VICTOR. 

" f  Pardon,  dear  mamma,  but  I 
would  rather  not  go  to  the  gardens 
to-day.  I  wish  to  attend  a  church  to 
which  I  was  in  the  habit  of  going 
from  Mr.  Herbert's,  and  I  thought 
that  you  perhaps  would  accompany 
me.' 

"  c  Is  it  to  the  Madeleine,  Agnes  ? 
Yes,  I'll  call  in  there  with  you.  I 
think  it  well  to  do  so.' 

"  I  remember  that  she  turned  very 
red  when  she  answered  me : 

"  '  No,  dear  mamma,  it  is  not  the 
Madeleine,  but  a  small  chapel  in  the 
Rue  Royale.' 

"  For  love  of  my  child  I  consented 
to  go.  But  at  first  it  did  not  seem  to 
me  like  a  church;  it  looked  dingy 
and  dark,  and  there  were  no  altars, 
nor  pictures,  nor  many  ceremonies ; 
but  one  without  a  priestly  dress  stood 
up  and  spoke  words  that  did  my  soul 
good.     I  learned  more  of  my  Saviour 


that  one  morning  than  I  had  ever 
known  before.  From  that  time  I 
went  there  regularly  with  my  darling 
as  long  as  she  was  able  to  go  any- 
where. The  preaching,  with  the 
prayers  and  example  of  my  child, 
brought  me  to  Jesus." 

"  And  where  is  your  Agnes  now  ?" 
asked  Victor,  deeply  interested  in 
Susanne's  story. 

Susanne  looked  upward  for  one 
moment,  and  he  knew  then  where 
Agnes  had  gone. 

"  She  brought  her  poor  old  mother 
to  the  Saviour's  feet,  and  died." 

u  O  how  did  she  die,  mother  V 

u  By  lingering  consumption.  She 
had  time  to  grow  like  the  angels  be- 
fore she  went  up  among  them.  She 
was  so  patient,  so  gentle,  so  full  of 
love !  In  that  long  illness  I  felt  that 
my  heart  had  grown  fast  to  her,  and 

when  she  went  up  to  heaven  it  seemed 

6 


86  VICTOE. 

as  if  a  part  of  myself  were  there.  I 
could  not  weep  for  her ;  I  could  only 
thank  God  for  what  he  had  made 
her.  She  passed  from  me  without 
pain,  and  then  I  laid  my  hand  on  her 
fair  forehead  and  said :  '  Arise,  shine, 
for  thy  light  is  come,  and  the  glory 
of  the  Lord  is  risen  upon  thee.'  Since 
then  the  grave  has  no  terrors  for  me. 
Like  the  Marys  of  old,  I  see  not  a 
dead  body  there,  but  a  living 
an^el." 

It  was  no  wonder  that  Victor 
should  wish  to  die  such  a  death  as 
Agnes  died,  after  hearing  her  story. 
He  was  much  interested  in  it,  and 
thought  of  her  often  when  in  Su- 
sanne's  room.  But  he  was  very  far 
from  being  willing  to  give  up  all  the 
fascinations  around  him.  He  would 
have  liked  to  own  the  pearl,  but  he 
was  not  willing  to  pay  the  price  for 
it.     He  could  not  make  up  his  mind 


SUSANNE.  87 

to  sell  all  that  lie  had  in  order  to  be 
Christ's  disciple.  He  sometimes  went 
to  the  small  chapel  that  Susanne  had 
spoken  of;  but  its  appearance  was 
uninviting,  and  the  service  was  an 
unimposing  one  to  a  worldly  fancy. 
Any  impression  that  might  possibly 
be  made  there  was  obliterated  by  a 
gay  afternoon  in  the  Tuileries,  or  an 
excursion  in  the  country  beyond. 

When  he  told  his  uncle  and  Jerome 
something  of  Susanne's  history  it 
brought  out  the  kind  feelings  of  their 
nature.  Pierre  had  some  furniture 
sent  to  her  room,  and  after  that  she 
always  had  a  piece  of  bread  and  a 
sip  of  milk  for  the  poor  little  ones 
who  asked  them  of  her.  She  rejoiced 
too  that  she  had  a  larger  stock  of 
crumbs  for  her  sparrows,  and  was 
pleased  to  find  one  morning  that 
they  had  built  themselves  a  nest  in 
an  angle  just  outside  of  her  window. 


88  VICTOE. 

One  could  hardly  imagine  what  hap- 
piness this  circumstance  gave  her 
simple  heart,  it  had  so  few  things  to 
love  !  Then  another  pleasure  awaited 
her.  One  day  she  found  a  box  of 
mignonnette  blooming  on  her  window- 
ledge,  its  delicate  fragrance  mingling 
with  that  of  the  wall-flowers  beside 
it.  She  knew  that  she  was  indebted 
to  Victor  for  it,  and  with  her  thanks- 
giving to  the  loving  Father  who  sends 
such  sweet  gifts  to  his  children  was 
mingled  a  prayer  for  her  young  friend. 


TROUBLE.  89 

CHAPTER  VII. 

TROUBLE. 

Victor  heard  frequently  from  Ge- 
neva. Justine  wrote  that  she  was 
glad  to  hear  that  he  was  happy,  and 
that  she  could  not  be  thankful  enough 
to  her  good  uncle  for  making  him  so. 
She  sorely  missed  him,  but  was  con- 
tented to  have  it  as  it  was.  Louis, 
she  also  wrote,  was  very  melancholy, 
had  a  strange  idea  that  he  was  be- 
coming poor,  and  talked  of  emigrating 
to  a  country  where  gold  was  to  be 
had  for  the  digging.  Pierre  had 
never  liked  Louis,  but  was  fond  of 
Justine.     He  would  often  say : 

"We'll  go  and  see  her  some  day, 
my  child,  and  carry  comfort  to  her 
poor  heart.  I  know  well  that  it 
longs  after  you.     She  should  never 


90  VICTOR. 

have  married  that  Louis.  Yes,  we 
will  surely  go  to  see  her,  though  you 
must  still  contiuue  miue.  I  will  give 
you  up  to  no  one,  not  even  to  my 
little  Justine." 

But  two  years  passed  without  Vic- 
tor seeing  his  old  friends.  Victor  was 
too  useful  to  be  spared,  and  Pierre 
could  not  be  separated  from  Jerome. 

In  the  mean  time  there  was  a  vio- 
lent under-current  at  work  in  that 
gay  capital,  though  all  was  outwardly 
smiling  and  secure.  But  there  were 
private  gatherings  of  the  people,  and 
lowering  looks  and  muttered  words 
anions  the  artisans  in  their  work- 
shops.  Jerome  lost  his  gay,  free 
manner.  He  was  often  absent,  and 
sometimes  excited.  Then  he  .had 
private  visitors  at  night,  which  were 
disagreeable  to  Pierre. 

One  night  Victor  heard  Pierre  say, 
after  some  whispered  conversation, 


TKOTTBLE.  91 

"No,  you  shall  not;  he'd  be  ready 
enough  for  it.  But  how  will  it  ter- 
minate ?  And  you !  have  you  not 
already  suffered  enough  V 

"  Not  if  I  can  assist  in  freeing  my 
country.  Besides,  'tis  my  trade,  my 
passion." 

"  Ha !"  said  Pierre ;  "  when  the  tiger 
smells  blood  he  can't  be  satisfied  with- 
out a  taste." 

Victor  could  get  no  explanation  of 
his  uncle's  meaning.  He  became 
restless  and  curious.  His  visits  to 
Susanne  were  irregular,  and  his  mind 
was  off  from  the  words  he  read  to 
her.  Jerome  was  often  out  till  late 
in  the  evening,  while  Victor  observed 
that  his  uncle  watched  him,  .and 
would  never  let  him  go  into  the 
street  at  night  on  any  account  what- 
ever. 

At  last  the  threatened  storm  burst. 
There    came    a    terrible    convulsion 


92  VICTOR. 

which  shook  France  to  its  center  and 
made  her  king  an  exile.  It  is  not 
for  a  simple  story  like  ours  to  dwell 
upon  such  scenes  as  then  occurred. 
It  is  enough  to  say  that  brave  old 
Jerome,  after  feats  of  desperate  valor, 
was  shot  through  the  heart  while  de- 
fending a  barricade.  Victor  too  was 
wounded  by  a  musket  shot,  for,  in 
spite  of  his  uncle's  vigilance,  his 
curiosity  had  led  him  to  rush  from 
the  house  and  plunge  into  the  thick- 
est of  the  crowd.  He  was  carried  to 
the  hospital,  where  the  ball  was  ex- 
tracted from  his  side  with  severe 
pain  and  much  peril.  For  several 
days  after,  he  was  delirious  with 
fever,  and  he  was  as  weak  as  an  in- 
fant when  reason  returned. 

"  Surely,  surely  he's  better,"  Victor 
heard  his  uncle  say  when  he  Jirst 
came  to  himself. 

"  Yes,  his  pulse  is  better,  and  also 


TEOUBLE.  93 

his  color,"  a  female  voice  answered, 
at  the  same  time  laying  her  cool 
fingers  upon  his  pulse. 

"  My  boy !  my  own  boy !"  his 
uncle  exclaimed  in  a  faltering  voice, 
but  he  was  checked  by  the  nurse. 
She  was  a  sister  of  charity,  who  had 
come  there  to  wait  on  the  wounded. 
"To-morrow,  if  he's  no  worse.  See 
how  weak  he  is  to-day,"  she  said, 
and  his  uncle  did  not  again  speak. 
He  stood  a  short  distance  from  the 
bed  surveying  that  pale  and  altered 
face.  As  Victor  lay  there  in  his 
weakness,  trying  to  understand  the 
dim  present,  there  came  to  him  a 
vivid  recollection  of  the  past.  The 
voice  of  old  Paul  seemed  to  speak  in 
his  ear  the  words  he  had  heard  him 
repeat  one  night  at  the  lodge,  and  he 
feebly  whispered  them  to  himself 
without  being  conscious  of  their  im- 
port.    When   the    sister  heard    him 


94  vidToR. 

say,  "  I  will  give  to  him  that  is 
athirst  of  the  water  of  life  freely," 
she  thought  that  he  was  thirsty,  and 
brought  him  some  refreshment,  which 
he  took  for  the  first  time. 

Victor  was  better  the  next  day, 
and  as  soon  as  it  was  safe  to  move 
him  he  was  carried  to  his  uncle's 
house.  Susanne  had,  at  the  request 
of  his  uncle,  prepared  his  room,  and 
stood  ready  to  wait  upon  him.  But 
the  news  of  the  late  revolution  had 
spread  through  the  land,  and  when 
Victor  was  strong  enough  to  really 
observe  anything  he  found  many 
friends  around  him.  Among  them 
were  Eugene  and  Justine.  Justine 
now  had  no  one  to  hinder  her  seeing 
her  dear  Victor.  Louis  had  gone  to 
a  foreign  country  to  get  rich,  and  the 
friends  of  Justine  were  glad  that  she 
was  delivered  from  her  tyrant.  She 
was  extremelv  overcome  at  the  sisrht 


TROUBLE.  95 

of  Victor's  altered  looks,  but  only 
said,  "  You  see,  Victor,  we  are  here 
to  help  our  dear  uncle  to  nurse  you, 
and  when  you  are  well  enough  Loth 
are  to  go  back  to  Geneva  with  us." 


96  VICTOE. 

CHAPTER  VIII. 

TRUE   FRIENDS. 

Jerome's  name  had  never  passed 
the  lips  of  either  uncle  or  nephew 
since  he  left  them  on  the  fatal  day  to 
return  no  more.  Yet  Victor  often 
looked  toward  the  door,  as  if  lie  must 
again  see  that  tall  military  figure  with 
the  gray  mustache  and  pleasant 
smile.  But  he  never  came,  and  Vic- 
tor knew  as  well  as  if  he  had  been 
told  that  he  never  would.  He  had 
many  thoughts  both  about  Jerome 
and  himself  as  he  lay  there  in  his 
weakness. 

"  Had  he  died  like  Agnes,"  he  said, 
"  who  lived  so  much  like  the  angels 
on  earth,  we  could  not  doubt  his 
happiness  now !" 

War  and  bloodshed,  and  the  fierce 


TEUE   FEIEKDS.  97 

passions  that  caused  them,  seemed 
other  things  since  he  had  looked 
upon  them.  One  day,  at  last,  when 
Pierre  only  was  in  the  room  Victor 
ventured  to  say, 

"  Was  our  poor  Jerome's  death 
sudden  ?" 

"  Sudden  !  I  think  he  suffered  lit- 
tle pain.    He  died  as  he  wished  to  die." 

After  that  no  allusion  was  made  to 
him. 

Eugene  watched  by  his  friend's  bed, 
waiting  for  an  opportunity  to  do 
him  good.     One  day  Victor  said : 

"  I  have  much  that  I  want  to  say  to 
you,  dear  Eugene,  but  my  head  is  so 
weak  that  it  harts  me  even  to  listen." 

"  I  pray  for  you,  dear  Victor,  in 
the  silence  of  my  heart.  God  under- 
stands this." 

After  a  time  Eugene  asked  Victor 
if  he  felt  strong  enough  to  hear  a  few 
verses  from  the  Bible.     He  said  he 


98  VICTOK. 

would  be  glad  to  hear  them,  and 
Eugene  from  that  time  read  short  por- 
tions of  the  Scriptures  to  him  daily. 
Both  Pierre  and  Justine  were  generally 
present  at  these  times,  and  listened 
with  apparent  interest  to  what  seemed 
to  soothe  and  satisfy  their  boy. 

One  day  Pierre  said  : 

"  This  is  really  a  fine  book  for  the 
sick.  The  sentences  are  short,  there- 
fore they  can  listen  to  them  without 
weariness." 

"Yes,"  said  Eugene,  "they  come 
to  the  point  at  once." 

"  True,  very  true.  And  that  re- 
minds me  that  I  was  once  called  with 
a  priest  to  a  dying  bed.  Could  the 
poor  sick  man  understand  his  long 
sentences  and  rapid  utterance  ? 
Never  !  never  !  he  didn't,  he  couldn't, 
though  he  pretended  to." 

Eugene,  still  improving  his  oppor- 
tunity, continued : 


TRUE  .FRIENDS.  99 

"  Our  book  has  its  little  word  for 
all.  It  speaks  to  all  classes.  It 
understands  human  nature." 

"  It  seems  to  be  the  book  to 
which  the  rich  and  the  poor,  the 
learned  and  the  unlearned  among 
you  Protestants  feel  that  they  have 
an  equal  right,1'  said  Pierre. 

"  Undoubtedly,  all  have  an  equal 
right  to  it.  The  promises  made  to  be- 
lievers thousands  of  years  ago  comfort 
those  who  read  them  to-day,  and  make 
them  feel  that  they  are  entirely  theirs." 

"  The  poor  Susanne  who  has  just 
left  us  took  great  pleasure  in  hearing 
it  read  to  her  daily  by  our  dear  boy 
here." 

Eugene  looked  gratified. 

"  My  clear  Victor,  I  am  glad  to 
hear  this ;  had  I  known  it  I  should 
not  have  felt  so  anxious." 

"Ah,  I  read  it,  but  only  to  please 
Susanne,"  said  Victor. 


100  VICTOE. 

"Yet  it  was  well  to  do  it,  and  I 
have  no  doubt  you  received  benefit. 
Our  kind  Saviour  does  not  reject  the 
humblest  service  offered  him." 

That  day  Pierre  said  to  Justine : 

"  I  have  enough  money,  and  need 
not  again  open  my  shop.  I  could 
not  remain  here ;  it  would  be  too 
lonely  without  my  old  comrade ;  we 
were  as  twin  brothers — " 

Here  Pierrie's  voice  faltered.  As 
soon  as  he  could  speak  he  resumed  : 

"  My  whole  life  will  I  henceforward 
give  to  my  poor  boy.  It  was  through 
my  means  that  he  nearly  threw  away 
his  own." 

"  Through  your  means,  uncle  ?  O 
no !" 

"  If  it  had  not  been  for  me  he 
would  not  have  been  in  Paris." 

"  No,  but  you  took  him  from 
those  who  were  harsh  to  him  to 
treat  him  like  a  son." 


TRUE    FRIEKDS.  101 

One  day  Pierre  met  Susanne  on 
the  stairs  as  he  was  coming  in  with 
some  delicious  grapes  that  he  had 
been  buying  for  Victor.  After  in- 
quiring about  him,  she  asked  permis- 
sion to  arrange  the  grapes  according 
to  her  own  taste.  This  was  granted, 
with  the  privilege  also  of  taking  them 
to  her  young  friend.  They  were  ]aid 
on  their  own  green  leaves  and  placed 
in  a  dish,  so  as  to  give  the  finest  effect 
to  the  beautiful  fruit,  and  then  car- 
ried to  his  bed-side  by  his  faithful  old 
friend.  He  received  her  with  a  smile 
of  delight,  and  her  plain  old  face  ap- 
peared to  please  him  as  much  as  the 
luscious  fruit  she  brought  him.  When 
he  tasted  them  he  said : 

"  They  are  so  refreshing !  they  cool 
my  mouth." 

"  You  used  to  talk  much  of  water 
when  you  were  so  ill  at  the  hospital, 
Victor,"  said  his  uncle,  "  and  it  was 


102  victor. 

always  in  connection  with  old  Paul. 
Living  water  yon  often  spoke  of." 

"  Yes ;  the  night  before  I  left  old 
Paul  he  read  of  living  water  and 
prayed  to  have  it.  I  believe  live 
dreamed  of  it  since,  though  I  didn't 
understand  what  he  meant." 

"Dear  Victor,"  said  Eugene,  ever 
on  the  watch  to  do  him  good,  "  you 
know  the  living  water  that  the  Bible 
so  often  speaks  of  is  the  pardon  of 
sin,  and  the  peace  which  follows  it 
makes  the  soul  happy  and  joyful. 
Are  you  strong  enough  to  have  me 
kneel  down  and  pray  that  it  may  be 
given  to  comfort  you  in  your  illness  V 

"  O  do,  Eugene,  do,"  Victor  said. 

And  when  Eugene  and  Susanne 
knelt  down,  Pierre  also  knelt,  al- 
though it  had  been  many  years  since 
those  stiff  old  knees  had  bowed  before 
the  Lord,  even  in  form. 

Eugene  was   doing  good   in   that 


TRUE   FRIENDS.  103 

sick  room.  He  was  melting  Justinevs 
prejudices,  he  was  enlightening  the 
mind  of  Pierre. 

His  business  called  him  home  be- 
fore Victor  was  well  enough  to  return 
with  him.  They  missed  him  greatly 
when  he  was  gone.  But  he  told 
Victor  that  Susanne  could  more  than 
supply  his  place,  and  that  he  must 
ask  to  have  her  with  him.  This  he 
could  do  without  hurting  the  feelings 
of  his  aunt,  who  was  very  delicate, 
and  he  still  required  much  done  for 
him.  So  Susanne  was  made  assistant 
nurse. 

Many,  many  new  thoughts  had 
come  to  Victor's  mind  since  his  illness. 
He  knew  that  death  had  been  very 
near  him ;  that  he  had  almost  felt 
the  touch  of  his  icy  hand. 

"  O  !"  he  thought  as  he  lay  on  his 
bed,  or  sat  propped  up  with  pillows 
in  his  chair,  "what  a  life  mine  has 


104  VICTOK. 

been.  God  commands  us  to  serve 
him.  But  I  never  thought  of  him. 
I  never  cared  to  please  him.  I 
thought  only  of  pleasing  myself." 

Susanne  was  glad  to  be  recalled. 
She  was  useful  in  every  way.  On 
the  little  range,  which  opened  like  a 
cupboard  in  the  wall,  with  the  small- 
est of  charcoal  fires,  she  made  dainty 
messes  for  Victor,  and  did  the  cook- 
ing for  Pierre.  She  had  already  cured 
him  of  his  dislike  to  female  service. 
Susanne  was  a  good  nurse  as  well  as 
cook.  If  her  hands  were  coarser  and 
harder  than  Justine's,  they  smoothed 
the  sick  boy's  pillow  as  gently  and 
tenderly  as  hers,  and  her  voice  could 
whisper  of  peace  in  believing  that 
poor  Justine  knew  nothing  of.  Yet 
she  was  far  less  bigoted  than  she  had 
heretofore  been.  Indeed,  she  began 
to  think  that  there  must  be  some- 
thing not  bad  in  a  faith  which,  like 


TEUE    FKIEKDS.  105 

Eugene's,  brought  such  happiness  with 
it.  Her  faith  had  been  of  little  value 
in  her  hours  of  trial.  She  felt  the 
need  of  something  more  substantial. 
She  saw  the  peace  of  God  beam  in 
the  face  of  Eugene,  and  heard  his 
words  distill  as  the  dew  on  the  heart 
of  the  suffering  boy  when  he  talked 
to  him  so  sweetly  of  the  Saviour's 
love,  and  she  felt  that  he  had  hold  of 
some  element  of  happiness  of  which 
she  knew  nothing. 

One  day  when  her  uncle  said, 
"  I  believe  theirs  is  the  right  kind 
of  religion  for  such  times  as  this,  my 
dear  niece,"  she  could  not  but  feel 
in  her  heart  that  it  was  truly  so. 

" Until  now,"  he  continued,  "  I  never 
troubled  my  head  about  these  things. 
Catholics  and  Protestants  were  all 
the  same  to  me.  But  when  one  sees 
a  friend  step  off  before  his  eyes  into 
an  unknown  country,  it's  time  to  in- 


106  VICTOR. 

quire  about  the  place  he's  gone  to. 
For  myself,  I'm  an  old  man  ;  I  stand, 
as  I  may  say,  with  my  foot  uplifted. 
Where  is  it  to  step  V 

Susanne  was  doing  something 
about  the  room. 

"  O,"  she  said,  "  if  monsieur  will 
open  the  Bible  and  read,  he  will  find 
all  about  the  two  worlds  that  we 
can't  see,  and  monsieur  will  learn  to 
walk  right  into  the  good  land  when 
the  great  Master  calls." 

Victor  stretched  out  his  hand  and 
said : 

"Dear  Mother  Susanne,  God  hears 
you.  Ask  him  to  bless  me,  to  make 
me  fit  to  die.  I'm  not  prepared  now. 
I'm  very  different  from  your  Agnes." 

"  My  dear  boy,"  said  Justine  weep- 
ing, "don't  speak  so.  You  won't 
die ;  you  are  getting  better." 

"But  the  good  woman's  prayers 
will  do  the    child   no  harm,"  inter- 


TRUE   FRIENDS,  107 

posed  the  uncle;  "let  her  do  as  he 
desires." 

So'Susanne  knelt  by  the  bed  and 
prayed  that  Victor  might  be  forgiven 
and  comforted  by  Him  who  brings 
back  the  lost  sheep  to  his  fold,  and 
who  died  to  bring  salvation  to  all 
who  will  believe  in  him  and  love 
him. 

It  was  a  prayer  of  faith  that 
brought  an  answer.  Victor  began  to 
feel  what  it  is  to  trust  in  Christ. 
The  light  was  dim  at  first,  but  it 
grew  stronger  as  he  heard  more  and 
more  of  the  willingness  of  Jesus  to 
save  sinners.  He  asked  his  uncle  to 
write  to  Eugene,  and  to  tell  him  that 
the  seeds  he  planted  in  his  mind 
were  not  destroyed,  and  that  he 
hoped  they  would  live  and  grow 
forever. 

Eugene  answered  the  letter,  and 
expressed  joy  at  what  he  had  heard. 


108  VICTOR. 

He  added :  "  Dear  Victor,  now  that 
your  Saviour  has  blessed  you,  you 
will  not  feel  that  the  work  is  all 
done.  It  is  but  just  begun.  Chris- 
tianity is  a  life-long  work ;  but  you 
will  have  help  from  above  whenever 
you  ask  for  it." 


A   JOUKKEY   HOME.  109 


CHAPTEE  IX. 

A     JOUENEY     HOME. 

When  Victor  was  strong  enough  to 
travel  they  were  all  impatient  to 
leave  Paris.  There  was  but  one 
drawback  to  the  boy's  happiness,  the 
thought  of  parting  with  the  dear  old 
friend  who  had  been  such  a  comfort 
and  blessing  to  him.  But  Mother 
Susanne  calmed  him  by  dwelling 
upon  their  future  meeting  in  their 
Father's  house  above. 

"  For  myself,  it  will  not  be  long 
before  I  am  called  up  thither,"  she 
said;  "but  you,  I  trust,  have  much 
to  do  for  your  fellow-creatures  before 
your  summons  comes." 

Pierre  too  was  full  of  gratitude  to 
the  good  Susanne,  and  took  care 
to   leave  her   in   far   more  comfort- 


110  VICTOR. 

able  circumstances  than  he  found 
her. 

Justine  preceded  them.  She  wish- 
ed to  get  things  in  readiness,  and 
her  uncle  gave  her  the  means  to 
do  so.  Louis  had  taken  all  that  he 
could  carry  with  him,  making  no 
provision  whatever  for  his  wife. 

Victor's  health  improved  on  the 
journey,  and  a  little  of  his  old  color 
had  come  back  to  his  cheeks  when 
he  reached  Geneva.  It  was  on  a 
lovely  spring  day  that  the  old  home, 
which  he  had  left  with  such  different 
feelings,  greeted  him  once  more.  He 
scarcely  knew  the  room  in  which  he 
had  played  when  a  child,  and  where 
he  had  both  suffered  and  enjoyed 
much.  The  united  exertions  of  Jus- 
tine and  Henriette  had  transformed 
it.  Taste  and  fancy  had  made  it 
pretty  with  small  expense.  Perhaps 
it  looked  brighter  to  Victor  that  the 


A   JOUK^TEt   HOME.  Ill 

dark  shadow  in  the  form  of  Louis 
haunted  it  no  more. 

None  but  kind  friends  were  around 
him.  Not  only  Adrien's  family,  but 
even  the  young  ladies  from  Les  Prai- 
ries came  to  welcome  him.  Good 
old  Paul  too,  leaning  on  the  top  of 
his  staff  like  the  patriarch  Jacob,  was 
there.  Victor  might  well  feel  that 
no  boy  before  ever  had  such  kind 
friends. 

It  was  the  season  for  early  flow- 
ers, and  each  brought  a  floral  gift. 
Jonquils  and  violets,  sweet-jasmin  and 
roses  were  everywhere  seen.  Pierre 
rubbed  his  hands  with  cheerfulness 
and  satisfaction.  Circumstances  had 
hitherto  made  his  life  a  lonely  one. 
Only  on  Jerome  had  he  poured  out 
the  affections  of  his  heart ;  but,  though 
repressed,  they  were  still  there,  and 
Victor  had  been  the  means  of  rousing 
them  into  new  power.     He  felt  that 


112  VICTOR. 

now  with  him  and  Justine  another 
life  was  before  him. 

Speaking  of  Pierre  to  Eugene,  Vic- 
tor said : 

"He  is  so  kind  and  generous  to 
me  !     What  can  I  do  for  him  ?" 

"  Try  to  bring  him  to  the  Saviour 
who  has  sought  and  found  you,"  said 
Eugene. 

"  O,"  he  answered,  "  I  pray  for  this 
constantly." 

As  soon  as  Victor  could  climb  the 
high  stairs  he  went  into  Adrien's 
room.  That  too  had  been  remodeled 
by  Eugene's  own  hands,  and  newly 
papered  by  Henriette.  It  looked 
more  cheerful,  without  being  less 
picturesque. 

"  We  have  a  little  company  assem- 
ble here  once  a  week  to  read  the 
Bible,  make  comments  on  it,  and  pray 
together,"  said  Eugene.  "Will  you 
not  join  us  to-night,  Victor?" 


A   JOUBOTEY    HOME.  113 

"  O  gladly !  and  I  will  ask  my 
uncle." 

His  uncle,  though  without  prejudice 
against  the  little  company,  thought 
he  would  not  be  at  home  there,  and 
declined. 

Victor  found  it  a  great  benefit. 
He  had  indeed  begun  to  love  the 
Bible,  and  he  was  grateful  for  every 
opportunity  that  would  be  likely  to 
make  him  comprehend  it  better. 
Then,  too,  he  had  learned  the  value 
of  prayer,  and  was  glad  to  have  good 
people  unite  their  prayers  with  his 
own  that  God  would  keep  him  faith- 
ful to  eternal  life. 

"My  uncle  must  join  us  yet.  I 
will  not  give  it  up.  And  O  Eugene  ! 
if  my  dear  aunt  could  by  any  means 
be  brought  in  among  us !" 

"  Nothing  is  impossible  to  him 
that  believeth,"  was  Eugene's  reply. 

Yet  still  Victor  did  not  recover 


114  VICTOE. 

rapidly,  and  both  Pierre  and  Justine 
became  somewhat  anxious. 

One  day,  after  consulting  with  Jus- 
tine, Pierre  said : 

"Victor,  my  boy,  I've  thought  of 
a  better  medicine  for  you  than  any 
the  doctor  give.  I  think  we  will 
go  south  for  a  while." 

"  O  uncle,  you  have  already  done 
too  much  for  me  !  I  am  better  here, 
and  soon  shall  be  quite  well.  I  hope 
not  to  lead  such  an  idle  life  always. 
I  want  to  get  strong,  to  show  you 
and  my  dear  aunt  how  grateful  I  am 
for  all  you  have  done  for  me." 

"  I'm  not  entirely  unselfish  in  my 
plan,  Victor.  I  want  to  see  Provence 
before  I  die.  They've  given  it  an- 
other name  now,  and  one  not  half  so 
pretty.  But  to  me  it  is  Provence 
still.  The  change  of  name  has 
wrought  no  change  in  my  feel- 
ings." 


A  JOUKNEY  HOME.  115 

"  It's  Vaucluse  now,  uncle,  or  part 
of  it,  is  it  not  V 

"  O  yes,  and  the  Lower  Alps,  and 
a  number  of  names  besides.  The 
beautiful  Provence  is  cut  up  and 
shuffled  like  a  pack  of  cards  since  I 
was  born  there.  But  I  long  to  see 
it  again.  When  a  man  gets  old  his 
thoughts  go  backward.  I  would 
look  at  the  little  village  again,  and 
the  old  house  in  which  your  grand- 
father, your  father,  and  yourself 
were  born.  I  might  have  gone 
years  ago,  but  I  was  busy,  and 
besides  —  but  no  matter;,  we'll  go 
now." 

The  plan  was  highly  approved  by 
Justine  and  Victor's  other  friends. 

"  O  yes,"  Justine  said,  "  he  must 
go.  And  I  am  sure  my  good  uncle 
will  bring  him  back  to  us  again  quite 
well  and  cheerful." 

Not    that    Victor    had    not   been 


116  VICTOE. 

cheerful,  for  he  had  never  been  so 
truly  happy  in  his  life  before.  But 
he  was  far  from  strong  and  had  a 
little  cough. 


PEOVENCE  EOSES.  117 


CHAPTER  X. 

PEOVENCE    EOSES. 

In  May  Victor  and  his  uncle  set 
off  on  their  journey,  through  one  of 
the  most  varied  and  picturesque  re- 
gions in  the  world  ;  a  region  which 
always  remainslike  a  book  of  pictures 
in  the  memory  of  those  who  have 
seen  it.  There  is  a  union  of  the 
sublime  with  the  beautiful  in  the 
gently  rising  valleys,  and  the  mount- 
ains wrapt  in  clouds,  and  in  the 
rivers  which  sometimes  rush  swiftly 
onward,  and  then,  changing  their 
character,  flow  on  serenely  through 
scenes  of  pastoral  loveliness.  The 
orange,  lemon,  Hg^  and  almond 
abound,  and  olive  trees,  which  look 
much  like  our  silver-leaved  willow, 

are  everywhere  seen. 

8 


118  VICTOR. 

Their  way  was  bordered  by  myriads 
of  flowers  of  every  form  and  color.  Reel 
poppies,  coronella,  and  gayly-tinted 
gladioli,  every  moment  called  forth 
Victor's  admiration.  Then  he  would 
turn  from  these  minute  specimens  of 
the  gracious  Father's  skill  to  the 
mountains,  at  one  time  dimmed  with 
floating  mists,  and  then  glorious  in 
the  sunshine.  Every  hill  and  valley, 
cloud  and  mountain,  spoke  to  him  of 
the  dear  and  tender  Father  whom  he 
had  learned  to  love.  Victor's  com- 
pany made  his  uncle  feel  younger. 
They  talked  of  many  interesting 
things  as  they  traveled.  Victor 
asked  if  the  trade  in  flowers  had  ex- 
isted long  in  Provence. 

"  Only  since  about  the  beginning  of 
the  present  century,"  answered  Pierre, 
aand  it  was  through  a  connection  of 
our  family  that  it  commenced." 

Victor  begged  to  hear  more,  and 


PEOVENCE  EOSES.  119 

his  uncle  went  on  with  the  story  the 
more  readily  as  they  were  just  on  the 
confines  of  the  flowery  land. 

"  Pierre  Lescaut — you  see  he  was  a 
namesake  of  mine — was  as  honest  as 
he  was  poor,  and  extremely  fond  of 
flowers  withal.  He  owned  a  few 
acres  that  were  not  very  productive, 
and  a  small  house.  But  his  olive 
fields  and  vineyards  would  not  bring 
him  a  sum  of  money  that  it  had  now, 
on  some  accounts,  become  quite  neces- 
sary for  his  happiness  and  welfare  to 
secure.  How  to  raise  this  sum,  which 
was  a  large  one,  dwelt  so  much  upon 
his  mind  that  he  dreamed  about  it. 
I  won't  pretend  to  tell  the  dream 
as  the  villagers  tell  it.  I  always 
doubted  it  myself;  at  least  I've 
thought  there's  more  poetry  than 
truth  in  the  way  it  is  told.  But  how- 
ever this  may  be,  one  day  Lescaut 
went  to  a  dried-up  old  chemist  and 


120  VICTOR. 

said  something  to  hini  about  making 
money  out  of  the  gay  flowers  which, 
for  love  of  them,  he  had  planted  every 
spare  spot  in  his  garden  and  olive 
field  with.  The  chemist  had  lived  in 
Florence,  where  a  great  trade  in 
essences  was  carried  on.  He  told 
Lescaut  that  much  might  be  made  of 
his  flowers,  and  that  if  he  would  raise 
a  sufficient  quantity  of  the  right  kind 
he  would  promise  to  distill  them  for 
him.  Lescaut  went  home  ful]  of 
hope.  People  wondered  to  see  him 
plant  so  many  flowers  and  spend  so 
much  time  in  their  culture.  They 
thought  he  was  losing  his  senses,  and 
said  that  he  had  better  be  taking 
care  of  his  olives  and  vines.  But  he 
kept  his  secret,  and  at  length  a  crop 
of  rare  flowers  was  ready  for  the  old 
Italian.  He  succeeded  in  distilling 
from  them  an  essence  equal  to  any 
which   Florence   affords.     Moreover, 


PEOVENCE  EOSES.  121 

lie  had  the  good  fortune  to  obtain 
the  patronage  of  the  Empress  Joseph- 
ine, who  was  famous  for  her  passion 
for  perfumes,  and  so  his  fortune,  as 
well  as  the  old  Italian's,  was  made  at 
once.  Those  who  had  ridiculed 
Lescaut  were  now  glad  to  imitate 
him.  The  culture  of  golden  grain 
and  shining  maize  was  abandoned,- 
and  flower  fields  sprang  up  every- 
where. So  the  region  about  the 
cities  of  Caen  and  Grasse  has  become 
the  sweetest  in  la  belle  France  from 
the  circumstances  I  have  related. 
Lescaut  was  the  benefactor  of  his 
neighborhood,  although  so  sneered  at 
in  the  beginning."* 

They  came  to  the  quiet  village  of 
Mery-les-Hoches  just  at  sunset.  Few 
travelers  stop  there.  Most  of  them 
prefer  the  finer  hotels  of  Caen  and 

*  The  substance  of  this  account  was  drawn  from 

Chambers's  Miscellany. 


122  VICTOR. 

Grasse,  between  which  cities  the 
village  lies.  Pierre  was  very  silent 
as  they  passed  through  the  flowery 
fields  which  the  inhabitants  were 
preparing  for  the  harvest.  His 
thoughts  were  full  of  the  past.  Vic- 
tor was  taken  up  with  the  present. 
It  was  wonderful  to  see  the  heaps  of 
tuberoses,  orange  blossoms,  and  jas- 
mines that  lay  upon  the  ground  ready 
for  the  distillery.  Their  fragrance, 
mingling  with  that  of  the  superb 
Provence  rose,  filled  the  air  for  many 
miles.  We  have  little  idea  of  the 
sweetness  and  richness  of  the  latter 
flower  in  its  native  climate.  It  is 
said  that  they  have  few  blossoms  at 
a  time,  but  this  is  made  up  by  their 
size  and  odor. 

They  found  the  Auberge  on  the 
side  of  a  hill,  with  a  little  stream  at 
its  foot,  over-  which  a  rustic  bridge 
had    been    thrown.       Nothing    was 


PROVENCE    ROSES.  123 

heard  but  the  murmur  of  the  water 
and  the  song  of  birds  as  they  entered 
the  wicket.  Every  man  and  woman 
had  gone  out  to  the  harvest,  and  the 
little  inn  was  left  in  charge  of  a  child, 
who,  for  want  of  something  else  to 
do,  had  fallen  asleep  on  the  door-sill. 
Victor  could  not  bear  to  waken  her; 
she  looked  so  peaceful  sleeping  in  the 
sjiade  of  the  rose-bushes,  and  smiling 
in  her  sleep.  Pierre  took  her  in  his 
arms,  and,  though  frightened  at  first, 
she  was  soon  awake  sufficiently  to  say 
that  her  name  was  Pauline,  that  papa, 
mamma,  and  Claud  were  in  the  field, 
and  that  old  Jeannette  was  in  the 
garden,  from  whence  she  would  call 
her.  But  the  travelers  had  been  seen 
entering  the  gate,  and  before  little 
Pauline  had  left  the  room  the  land- 
lord and  his  wife  came.  They  both 
received  our  travelers  cordially,  for 
guests  were  rare  at  that  little  inn, 


124  VICTOK. 

though  its  accommodations  were  clean 
er  and  better  than  many  of  more  im- 
posing appearance. 

Soon  an  old  servant  came  in  to  lay 
the  cloth.  She  courtesied  at  the  door, 
and  Pierre,  in  returning  her  salute, 
looked  earnestly  at  her.  At  length 
rising  and  going  toward  her,  he 
said: 

"  Why,  Jeannette,  is  it  possible ! 
Can  you  be  still  living  ?" 

The  old  woman  dropped  the  cloth 
and  looked  up  at  him.  She  did  not 
know  his  voice,  but  when  she  saw  his 
eyes  smiling  on  her  she  recognized 
him. 

"  Master  Pierre — my  dear  young 
master  I" 

It  was  an  old  servant  of  his  father's 
he  had  found.  Beside  her  he  felt 
young,  though  Victor  had  smiled  to 
hear  Jeannette  call  him  so. 

"  I  never  thought  to  see  you  again, 


PEOVEISTCE   EOSES.  125 

Master  Pierre.  How  could  you  know 
rue,  sir?" 

"  I  heard  your  name  called,  and  I 
knew  your  walk." 

uAh,  Master  Pierre,  you  always 
said  that  I  walked  one-sided  like  a 
crab !  but  that  you  should  still  re- 
member me !  How  glad  I  am  to 
see  you!" 

"And  you  live  here,  Jeannette?" 

"  What  else  could  I  do,  monsieur  ? 
Poor  Master  Philippe  thought  he  had 
left  me  enough  to  make  me  comfort- 
able ;  but,  alas !  it  got  in  bad  hands, 
and  I  lost  it  all.  But  it's  all  right. 
He  taught  me  to  be  contented  with 
what  the  good  Lord  'sends,  and  I 
shall  soon  go  to  a  pleasant  home 
above." 

Victor  had  been  sitting  behind  a 
screen  and  looking  out  of  a  window. 
She  had  not  seen  his  face  until  now 
that  he  leaned  forward  to  look  at  her. 


126  VICTOR. 

u  Do  you  know  this  young  gentle- 
man V  asked  Pierre. 

"Yes — no!  It  can't  be  Master 
Philippe's  son ;  but  it  is  !" 

cc  Yes,  it  is  indeed,  Jeannette." 

"  And  so  like  his  father !" 

She  kissed  his  hands  and  her  eyes 
overflowed.  Victor  put  up  his  mouth, 
and  she  kissed  it,  with  both  his 
cheeks. 

"  Yes,  you  are  like  him.  He  would 
have  done  the  same  to  a  poor  old 
servant.  But  he  was  very  good  ;  the 
love  of  the  Saviour  was  in  his  heart." 

"  I  will  try  to  be  good  like  him," 
Victor  answered,  and  the  landlady 
came  in  to  Irtirry  Jeannette. 

When  their  meal  was  over  they 
went  out  into  the  village,  crossing 
the  bridge  at  the  foot  of  the  hill,  and 
following  a  lane  bordered  with  rose- 
tree  hedges.  Jeannette  had  had  per- 
mission to  join  them  in  their  search 


PEOVENCE    ROSES.  127 

after  relics  of  the  past.  Pierre,  who 
knew  what  a  faithful  domestic  in  his 
family  she  had  always  been,  was 
gratified  by  the  character  their  land- 
lord gave  her.  • 

"  I  could  trust  her  with  gold,"  he 
said.     "  Her  value  cannot  be  named." 

At  the  termination  of  the  lane  they 
came  to  a  low  cottage,  spreading 
broad  and  wide  in  its  flowery  garden, 
with  dormer  windows,  overgrown 
with  vines,  and  a  rustic  porch  on 
which  the  master,  in  a  gray  blouse 
and  red  cap,  sat  smoking  his  pipe. 
A  green  gate,  set  in  the  hedge,  ad- 
mitted them  into  the  pleasant  yard. 
They  were  received  genially  by  the 
owner  of  the  place.  His  family,  he 
said,  were  all  in  the  fields.  He  had 
come  home  to  smoke  his  pipe,  and 
should  go  back  to  help  them  cut 
their  flowers  before  a  change  of 
weather  came.      In  the   mean   time 


128  VICTOE. 

the  house  was  at  their  command. 
Then  he  went  away  and  left  them 
undisturbed. 

Tears  came  into  Pierre's  eyes  as  he 
looked  around. 

"  fhe  same  birds  seem  to  make 
their  homes  here  as  when  I  was  a 
boy,"  he  said ;  "  the  same  flowers 
bloom,  the  same  odors  come.  I  only 
am  changed." 

He  looked  ap  at  a  dormer  window, 
framed  in  roses. 

"  That  was  my  room  from  a  child. 
I  seem  now  to  see  a  face  looking  out 
of  it  as  young  as  your  own,  my  boy. 
It  wasn't  the  old  wrinkled  face  then 
that  you  see  now.  No,  it  was  peer- 
ing into  the  future  with  the  hope  of 
doing  great  things ;  but  I  never  did 
them.  I  seem  to  have  lived  in 
vain." 

"  O  no,  uncle  !  and  if  you  didn't  do 
all  you  wanted  to,  you   are   not   a 


PK0VENCE   ROSES.  129 

very  old  man  now.  Perhaps  you 
will  still  be  able  to  do  much  good." 

Pierre  shook  his  head. 

"  I  fear  I  shan't  do  much  more. 
Your  father  slept  in  that  room  with 
me  from  a  boy.  I  lived  with  my 
brother,  as  I  never  married,  and 
Philippe  was  his  only  child.  A  good 
boy  he  ever  was ;  he  always  tried  to 
do  right.  I  think  he  prayed  from  a 
child,  and  yet  he  had  no  one  to  teach 
him  to  do  so.  He  was  always  truth- 
ful, always  did  what  he  believed  to 
be  right. 

"  Mother  Susanne  says,  to  such 
'  God  will  give  more  light ;'  and  I  know 
it  is  written,  '  If  any  man  will  do  his 
will,  he  shall  know  of  the  doctrine 
whether  it  be  of  God  or  whether  I 
speak  of  myself.1 " 

Pierre  then  went  on  to  say, 

"  I  remember  what  anger  he  had 
to  bear  when  he  told  your  grandfa- 


130  VICTOR. 

ther  that  he  had  became  a  Protest- 
ant ;  how  we  all  scoffed  him.  But 
this  did  not  move  him,  and  we  be- 
gan to  think  at  length  that  his  be- 
lief might  be  right,  because  his  con- 
duct was  so  much  better  than  ours. 
Our  opposition  died  away,  and  he 
went  on  his  own  course." 

By  this  time,  accompanied  by 
Jeannette,  they  had  entered  the  house 
and  taken  their  way  into  a  room  up 
stairs. 

"In  that  place,  by  the  door,  he 
knelt  and  prayed  without  book  or 
rosary  both  night  and  morning,"  con- 
tinued Pierre.  "  Sometimes  his  lips 
moved  softly,  at  other  times  not.  A 
solemn  awe  used  to  come  over  me. 
I  felt  that  Philippe  held  communion 
with  an  unseen  Presence." 

"  How  came  my  father  to  become 
a  Protestant?"  asked  Victor,  more 
and  more  interested. 


PE0VENCE  EOSES.  131 

"  Through  Celestine  D'Ormay, 
whom  he  afterward  married.  We 
were  all  Catholics  when  the  D'Or- 
mays  came  to  live  among  us.  They 
were  much  ridiculed  for  their  strange 
wTays,  particularly  for  the  quiet  man- 
ner in  which  they  kept  the  Sabbath. 
But  when  your  father  became  ac- 
quainted with  them  he  embraced 
their  principles." 

"  Did  you  know  much  of  my 
mother  ?" 

"  Not  very  much  ;  I  left  Provence 
soon  after  her  marriage  to  your  fa- 
ther, and  she  lived  but  a  year  from 
that  time.  But  Justine  remembers 
her.  Her  she  would  have  made  a 
Protestant,  but  a  bigoted  aunt  guarded 
her." 

Jeanette  here  spoke : 

"  O,  monsieur,  your  mother  was  as 
good  as  she  w^as  lovely.  Neither  she 
nor  your  father  are  yet  forgotten  by 


132  VICTOR. 

the  poor  and  the  needy  here.  They 
both  lived  to  do  good,  and  it  was  sad 
that  such  lights  among  us  were  so 
early  quenched." 

Every  spot  in  that  little  chamber 
had  a  tender  memory  connected  with 
it.  Philippe  had  been  to  Pierre  like 
a  child.  He  leaned  out  of  the  win- 
dow. 

"  In  this  same  spot  under  the  eaves 
did  Philippe  hang  a  bird-cage  which 
he  himself  made.  I  am  glad  they 
still  keep  one  there." 

Jeannette  led  them  into  a  room 
below,  with  a  wide  long  window 
looking  out  into  the  garden.  From 
it  they  saw  the  sloping  hill,  the  foot- 
bridge, and  the  gentle  stream.  It 
was  now  Victor's  turn  to  speak. 

"  Surely  I  have  seen  this  room  be- 
fore. A  pale  gentleman  once  sat  by 
that  window,  and  I  stood  by  his 
knee.      He   said    something    to    me 


PROVENCE  EOSES.  133 

about  the  blue  sky,  which  looked 
just  as  it  does  now.  I  cried — and  he 
read  to  me  from  a  book — O  I  under- 
stand it  all  now  !  Father !  father  P 
he  said,  covering  his  face  with  his 
hands,  "  O  my  dear  father  !" 

The  full  sense  of  the  treasure  he 
had  once  possessed  came  to  him,  the 
treasure  he  had  lost.  But  even 
then  he  felt  the  blessing  of  having 
had  such  a  parent.  Yes,  he  knew 
that  the  book  thus  associated  with 
the  only  memory  he  had  of  his  father 
was  to  him  now  the  dearest  thing  in 
life.  It  told  him  whither  he  had 
gone ;  it  would  teach  him  how  to 
live  so  that  he  might  at  length  be  a 
partaker  of  his  blessedness. 

"  Yes,  dear  child,"  said  Jeannette, 

"  in  this  room  was  I  when  your  dear 

father   talked   to   you.      You    asked 

him  to  take  you  up  to  heaven.     He 

couldn't  do  that ;  but  he  put  you  in 

9 


134  VICTOR. 

good  hands  till  your  time  comes  to 
go  to  him.  When  I  took  you  out  of 
the  room  crying,  I  heard  him  say  in 
his  faint  sweet  voice,  4  Leave  thy  fa- 
therless children  to  me  and  I  will 
preserve  them.'  O  dear  young  mas- 
ter, how  Master  Philippe  prayed  for 
you !  Have  his  prayers  been  an- 
swered V 

"0  1  hope  so,  mother !  I  want  to 
be  like  papa  just  as  he  was  like  Jesus. 
I  think  his  prayers  saved  my  life 
when  I  was  so  foolish  as  to  put  my- 
self in  great  danger,  and  I  think  they 
are  helping  to  save  my  soul  now." 

"  The  good  God  be  praised  that 
you  are  in  the  path  that  leads  to 
him,"  said  Jeannette ;  "  I  shall  soon 
be  there  myself,  dear  child,  for  I  am 
very  old.  And  you,  dear  Master 
Pierre,  who  loved  the  young  Philippe 
so  well,  you  must  not  be  separated 
from  him." 


PROVENCE  ROSES.  135 

Pierre's  convictions  of  the  truth  of 
Christianity  were  not  weakened  by 
the  artless  testimony  of  this  simple 
daughter  of  Christ.  On  their  return 
to  the  inn,  through  the  same  sweet 
scenes  they  had  trodden  previously, 
Jeannette  told  them  that  although 
there  had  not  been  a  single  Protest- 
ant in  the  village  when  the  D'Ormays 
came  there  to  live,  there  was  now 
a  little  company  of  believers  who  met 
together  for  divine  worship,  and  to 
encourage  each  other  in  the  Christian 
path.  That  evening  was  the  one 
on  which  they  usually  assembled. 
Would  Master  Victor  join  them? 
They  would  be  so  glad,  and  some 
who  had  known  his  father  and  moth- 
er would  be  there. 

Jeannette  and  Victor  went  to  the 
Widow  Richaud's  that  evening.  The 
full  moon  shone  on  the  chestnut-tree, 
which  threw  its  branches  over  the 


136  VICTOR. 

humble  roof  of  the  cottage.  Dew- 
drops  sparkled  on  the  grass  that 
grew  beside  their  narrow  foot-path, 
and  no  sound  but  the  lulling  music 
of  the  little  stream  was  heard.  There 
seemed  to  Victor,  who  had  hitherto 
always  lived  in  the  city,  something 
solemn  in  this  silence  of  the  country. 
A  few  plain  women  in  tight  jackets 
and  short  striped  petticoats,  and 
two  or  three  men,  in  clean  but  com- 
mon dresses,  read  the  Bible,  sang  and 
prayed  together.  Then  an  old  man 
rose  and  told  how  little  he  had  known 
of  the  true  Saviour  in  his  early  years, 
that  he  tried  to  find  him,  but  that  he 
had  not  the  light  of  his  word  to  go 
by,  and  that  he  therefore  walked  in 
dim  and  crooked  paths. 

"  But,"  he  continued,  "  as  I  sat  at 
my  door  one  evening  thinking  of 
these  things  and  saying  in  my  heart 
the  words  of  the  psalmist,  '  O  when 


PK0VENCE    E0SE8.  137 

wilt  thou  come  unto  nie  V  though  then 
I  knew  them  not,  a  young  person 
who  had  lately  come  to  live  in  the 
village  came  up  to  me.  She  asked 
me  if  Jesus  was  my  Saviour,  aDd  I 
did  not  know  what  to  say.  But  she 
talked  of  him  to  me,  and  she  put  his 
word  into  my  hands  ;  and  so  I  found 
him  to  the  rejoicing  of  my  soul. 
Now  walk  I  in  the  light  of  his  coun- 
tenance and  in  the  teachings  of  the 
Holy  Ghost.  They  tell  me  that  the 
child  of  that  angel  mother  is  here, 
and  that  he  is  a  partaker  of  her  pre- 
cious faith.  Will  he  speak  a  word 
in  our  little  company  ?  It  will  teach 
us  to  pray  with  more  faith  for  our 
children,  if  he  tells  us  that  the  prayers 
of  the  good  parents  for  him  have 
been  answered." 

O  how  these  words,  spoken  out  of 
the  fullness  of  the  good  man's  heart, 
impressed  Victor !     Though  he  trem- 


138  VICTOR. 

bled,  could  be  refuse  to  give  the  sim- 
ple testimony  that  was  asked  ?  Jesus 
had  been  so  kind  to  him ;  should  he 
not  try  to  do  a  little  for  his  people  ? 
Jeannette  pressed  his  hand,  and  he 
rose  to  say: 

"  The  prayers  of  my  father  and  my 
mother  are  being  answered.  Their 
God  is  my  God ;  their  Saviour  has 
found  me,  and  led  me  to  his  fold. 
The  Holy  Spirit  that  spoke  to  them 
speaks  to  me." 

There  were  some  tears  shed  when 
Victor  sat  down.  Then  a  manly 
voice  raised  the  following  tenderly 
beautiful  hymn  of  Gerhard  Terstee- 
gen's,  in  which  the  females  devoutly 
joined : 

"  O  childhood !  well-beloved  of  heaven, 
Whose  mind  to  Christ  alone  is  given, 
How  longs  my  heart  to  feel  like  thee ! 
O  Jesus !  form  thyself  in  me. 
Lord !  let  me  while  on  earth  remaining, 
Such  childlike  frame  be  still  retaining ; 


PROVENCE    ROSES.  139 

With  me  then  here,  I  know  full  well, 
God  and  his  Paradise  will  dwell." 

That  meeting  shone  like  a  star  in 
Victor's  memory  as  long  as  he  lived. 
He  was  glad  that  he  had  there  been 
able  to  speak  a  little  word  for  Christ. 
There  was  a  scarcity  of  Bibles  among 
the  good  villagers,  and  Pierre  told 
Victor  he  would  send  them  a  supply 
on  his  return  home.  This  was  done, 
with  a  specially  fine  one,  with  large 
print,  for  Jeannette. 

The  visit  was  full  of  enjoyment 
both  to  Victor  and  his  uncle.  The 
latter  said  it  had  renewed  his  life. . 

They  returned  to  Geneva  delighted 
and  impressed  by  all  they  had  seen, 
and  Victor  with  entirely  recovered 
health.  He  was  permitted  to  learn 
Eugene's  business,  and  finally  entered 
into  partnership  with  him. .  The  two 
young  men  became  celebrated  for 
their  excellent  work,  as  well  as  for 


140  VICTOR. 

their  hi^h    moral  character  and   ex- 

tensive  usefulness. 

"  But  O  what  a  risk  I  ran  in  that 
wicked  city  1"  would  Victor  often  say. 
"  What  but  those  prayers  treasured 
up  in  heaven  could  have  saved  me  ? 
Snares  were  under  my  feet  and  all 
around  me." 

"  Ah,  but  you  listened  to  the  voice 
that  called  you  back!"  Eugene  re- 
plied, "  or  even  those  prayers  would 
not  have  availed.  The  child  of  pious 
parents  is  not  carried  passively  to 
heaven.  Holy  influences  can  be  re- 
sisted. God  gives  us  power  to  fol- 
low him,  but  he  does  not  compel 
us." 

"  I  know  it,"  said  Victor ;  "  we 
must  reach  out  our  hands  to  receive 
blessings  that  God  stretches  out  his  to 
give  us.  Does  he  not  say,  c  O  that 
thou  hadst  hearkened  to  my  com- 
mandments !  then  had  thy  peace  been 


PKOVE^CE    ROSES.  141 

as  a  river,  and  thy  righteousness  as 
the  waves  of  the  sea  V  " 

"  Yes,  and  I  cannot  conceive  of  a 
more  awful  image  than  that  of  the 
Deity  mourning  over  his  children  be- 
cause they  will  not  be  saved  I"  an- 
swered Eugene. 

Justine  gradually  forsook  the  super- 
stitions of  her  Church.  The  life  and 
warmth  of  the  religion  around  her 
spoke  too  forcibly  to  be  resisted. 

Louis  never  returned  a  rich  man. 
He  died  from  over-exertion  amid  the 
gold  which  he  had  so  greedily 
coveted. 

Pierre's  was  a  serene  old  age,  cheer- 
ed by  the  attentions  of  Justine  and 
Victor.  He  learned  to  love  the  Bible, 
and  often  pondered  with  much  feel- 
ing upon  the  parable  of  the  laborers, 
saying  that  the  one  called  at  the 
eleventh  hour  was  himself. 

Paul  was  the  first  of  the  little  com- 


142  VICTOR. 

pany  we  have  grouped  together  to 
go  to  the  promised  country  where,  it 
is  said,  "  they  shall  not  hunger  nor 
thirst,  neither  shall  the  heat  nor  sun 
smite  them ;  for  He  that  hath  mercy 
on  them  shall  lead  them,  even  by 
the  springs  of  water  shall  he  guide 
them." 


THE   END. 


® 

BOOKS  FOE  SUNDAY-SCHOOLS. 

200  Mulberry-street,  IVew  York. 

LONDON  IN  MODERN  TIMES; 

Or.  Sketches  of  the  English  Metropolis  during  the 
Seventeenth  and  Eighteenth  Centuries.  18ino,, 
pp.  222. 

THE  RODEN  FAMILY; 

Or,  the  Sad  End  of  Bad  Ways.  Keminiscences  of 
the  West  India  Islands.  Second  Series,  No.  II. 
Three  Illustrations.     18nio.,  pp.  159. 

LEARNING-  TO  FEEL. 

Illustrated.    Two  volumes,  18rno.,  pp.  298. 

LEARNING  TO  ACT. 

Three  Illustrations.     18mo.,  pp.  144. 

ROSA,  THE  "WORK  GIRL; 

By  the  Author  of  "  The  Irish  Dove."  Two  Illus- 
trations.    18mo.,  pp.  138. 

THE  FIERY    FURNACE; 

Or,  the  Story  of  Shadrach,  Meshach,  and  Abednego. 
By  a  Sunday-School  Teacher.  Two  Illustrations. 
ISrno.,  pp.  64. 

ELIZABETH  BALES: 

A  Pattern  for  Sunday-School  Teachers  and  Tract 
Distributers.    By  J.  A.  James.     18mo.,  pp.  84. 

SOCIAL  PROGRESS; 

Or,  Business  and  Pleasure.  By  the  Author  of 
"  Nature's  Wonders,"  "  Village  Science,"  etc.  Six- 
teen  Illustrations.     18mo.,  pp.  269. 

MINES   AND  MINING. 

ISino  ,  pp.  212. 


BOOKS  FOR  SUNDAY-SCHOOLS. 

200  Mulberry-9treet,  IVew  York. 


MINNIE   RAY. 

A  Story  of  Faith  and  Good  Works.  By  Mrs.  C.  M. 
Edwards,  Author  of  "  The  Herbert  Family,"  "  The 
Itinerant,"  etc.    Four  Illustrations.    18mo.,  pp.  198. 

AUNT  EFFIE; 

Or,  the  Pious  Widow  and  her  Infidel  Brother.  By 
Bev.  Daniel  Wise,  Author  of  "  Guide  to  the  Sav- 
iour," "Path  of  Life,"  "  Young  Man's  Counselor," 
etc.    Two  Illustrations.    ISnio.,  pp.  174. 

SARAH  NEAL. 

A  Tale  of  Eeal  Life.  By  the  Author  of  "  Eoland 
Band"  and  "The  Homely  Child."  Three  Illus- 
trations.    18mo.,  pp.  76. 

BE  COURTEOUS; 

Or,  Eeligion  the  True  Eefiner.  By  Mrs.  M.  H. 
Maxwell.     Three  Illustrations.    18mo.,  pp.  183. 

A  SCHOOL-BOY'S  LIFE: 

Being  a  Memoir  of  John  Lang  Bickersteth,  late  of 
Bugby  School.     ISmo.,  pp.  69. 

MARGARET  CRAVEN; 

Or,  Beauty  of  the  Heart.  By  the  Author  of  "  The 
Lost  Key,"  "  The  Golden  Mushroom,"  and  "  The 
Little  Water-cress  Sellers."  Five  Illustrations. 
18mo.,  pp.  175. 

LITTLE  JESSIE'S  WORK, 

And  the  Broken  Eosebuds.  Two  Engravings, 
18mo.,  pp.  83. 

ELL1N0R   GREY: 

Or,  the  Sunday-School  Class  at  Trimble  Hollow. 
By  Mrs.  H.  C.  Gardner,  Author  of  "  Annie  Lee," 
etc.    Four  Hlustrations.     18mo.,  pp.  195. 

® a 


•a 


BOOKS  FOR  SUNDAY-SCHOOLS. 

200  Mulberry-street,  New  York. 

THE  TEMPTATION; 

Or,  Henry  Thornton.  Showing  the  Progress  and 
Fruits  of  Intemperance.  Three  Illustrations.  18mo., 
pp.  90. 

NAPOLEON   BONAPARTE. 

Sketches  from  the  History  of  Napoleon  Bonaparte. 
Written  for  the  Young.  Six  Illustrations.  18mo., 
pp.  126. 

THE  MISSIONARY  TEACHER: 

A  Memoir  of  Cyrus  Shepard,  embracing  a  Brief 
Sketch  of  the  Early  History  of  the  Oregon  Mission. 
By  Kev.  Z.  A.  Mudge.  Seven  Illustrations.  18mo., 
pp.  221. 

DENNIS-BROOKS; 

Or,  a  Mother's  Grief.     18mo.,  pp.  62. 

CHEERFUL    CHAPTERS: 

Adapted  to  Youth,  and  not  unsuited  to  Age.  By 
old  Alan  Gray.    Four  Illustrations.   18mo.,  pp.  179. 

THE  KITTEN  IN  THE  WELL; 

Or,  One  Sinner  destroyeth  much  Good.  By  Fatheb 
William.    Four  Illustrations.    18mo.,  pp.  84. 

THE   EGYPTIAN. 

By  the  Author  of  "  The  Jew."  Illustrated.  18mo., 
pp.  180. 

THE  PATRIARCHS. 

Illustrated.     18mo.,  pp.  240. 

SKETCHES  OF  MISSION  LIFE 

Among  the  Indians  of  Oregon.    Fire  Illustrations, 
18mo.,  pp.  229. 
g .__. 


a —a 

BOOKS  POE  SUNDAY-SCHOOLS. 

200  Mulberry-street,  Kew  York 

CHARLES   DURAN; 

Or,  the  Career  of  a  Bad  Boy.  By  the  Author  of 
"The  Waldos."    Three  Illustrations.    18nio.,  pp.59. 

FRONTIER   SKETCHES. 

Selected  and  arranged  hy  the  Author  of  "Dying 
Hours,"  etc.     18rno.,  pp.  142. 

PRISON  SKETCHES. 

By  a  Chaplain.     18mo.,  pp.  105. 

THE  TEMPEST; 

Or,  an  Account  of  the  Nature,  Properties,  Dangers, 
and  Uses  of  Wind  in  various  Parts  of  the  World. 
Fourteen  Illustrations.     18mo.,  pp.  230. 

STORIES  OF   SCHOOLBOYS. 

Four  Illustrations.     18mo.,  pp.  143. 

COLUMBUS ; 

Or,  the  Discovery  of  America.  By  George  Cxjbitt. 
18mo.,  pp.  163. 

THE  "WALDOS; 

Or,  Incidents  of  the  American  Eevolution.  Two 
Illustrations.     18mo.,  pp.  106. 

MEMORY'S  PICTURES; 

Or,  Scenes  of  Childhood.  Two  Illustrations.  18mo., 
pp.  68. 

NATURE'S  WONDERS; 

Or,  God's  Care  over  all  his  Works.  By  the  Author 
of  "  Peeps  at  Nature."    Illustrated.    ISruo.,  pp.  226. 


THE  YOUTH'S   MONITOR. 

Four  volumes,  ISmo.,  each,  pp.  288. 


®- 


s 

'  BOOKS  FOE  SUNDAY-SCHOOLS. 

2®0  Mulberry-street,  New  York. 


NELLIE  RTJSSEL; 

Or,  the  Little  Girl  who  was  easily  Frightened, 
Three  Illustrations.     18mo. 

WHISPERS  FOR  BOYS 

About  one  of  their  most  Deceitful  Enemies.  By  a 
Lady.    Four  Illustrations.     18mo. 

AN  HOUR  AND  A  HALF 

In  a  Country  Sunday-School.  Being  a  PWure  of  the 
Practical  "Working  of  a  Successful  Country  Sunday- 
School.     Ten  Illustrations.    18mo. 

ARNOLD  LESLIE; 

Or,  the  Young  Skeptic.  Being  the  History  of  a 
Boy  who  Worked  his  Way  to  Honor  and  Competence 
through  many  Trials  and  Temptations.  Written  by 
Himself.    Five  Illustrations.    18mo. 

FRANK  ELSTON; 

Or,  Patience  in  Well-doing.  A  Story  for  Lads  who 
have  none  to  depend  upon  but  God  and  their  own 
energies.  Four  Illustrations.   18mo. 

PEARLS  for  the  LITTLE  ONES. 

A  Series  of  Stories  from  Child-life.  By  Mes.  Mart 
Jane  Phillips.    Four  Illustrations.    18mo, 


THE  YOUNG  HOP-PICKERS. 

By  the  late  Sarah  Maria  Fry,  Author  of  "  Matty 
Gregg,"  "Margaret  Craven,"  "The  Lost  Key," 
etc.     Three  Illustrations.    18mo. 

GEORGY  LEE ; 

Or,  the  Boy  who  became  a  Great  Artist:  and  tho 
Shadow  in  the  House.  By  Mrs.  0.  A.  S.  Bbale. 
Four  Illustrations.     18mo. 


I 


BOOKS  FOE  SUNDAY-SCHOOLS. 

200  Mulberry-street,  New  York. 

THE  YOUNG  GOLD  SEEKER, 

And  other  Authentic  Sketches.  A  Book  for  Youth. 
By  Mrs.  Mart  Jane  Phillips,  Author  of  "  Pearls 
for  the  Little  Ones,"  etc.    Two  Illustrations.    ISmo. 

LITTLE  TIGER  LILY 

And  her  Cousin  Alice ;  or,  How  a  Bad  Temper  was 
cured.  By  Marianna  H.  Bliss.  Three  Illustra- 
tions.   18nio. 

HOME  PICTURES 

For  the  Little  Ones.  A  Series  of  Sketches  from 
Beal  Child-Life.  By  Mrs.  Mary  Jane  Phillips, 
Author  of  "  Pearls  for  the  Little.  Ones."  Two  Illus- 
trations.   18mo. 

LITTLE  THINGS 

For  Little  Folks.  By  Mrs.  Mart  Jane  Phillips, 
Author  of  "Pearls  for  the  Little  Ones,"  "Home 
Scenes,"  "  Casket  of  Gems,"  etc.  Two  Illustra- 
tions.   ISmo. 

MARGARET  MAXHAM. 

A  Book  for  Young  Ladies.  By  Marianna  H.  Bliss, 
Author  of  "Little  Tiger  Lily,"  etc.  Three  Hlus- 
trations.     18mo. 

FACTS  ABOUT  GlRLS, 

For  Girls.  Being  a  Selection  of  Interesting  and 
Instructive  Anecdotes  of  Girls.  By  Eev.  Kichabd 
Donkerslet.      Six    Illustrations.      18nio. 


JUNA  ATHERTON'S 

Year  at  School.    A  Story  for 
Louisa  Ellen  .     Three 

g 6 


Year  at  School.    A  Story  for  Young  Ladies.    By 
Louisa  Ellen  .     Three  Illustrations.    18mo-. 


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